In All His Beauty
by WriteYourDreamsTheyWillCome
Summary: When Jason comes across a terrible car accident during winter in the mountains, he has no choice but to take in the injured woman. As Emma heals under the care of her mysterious rescuer, who hides in the shadows to conceal a deformity, she falls in love with his generous heart in all its beauty. B&B w/contemporary twist. Changed to "M" for future chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: The characters were renamed in this story and the plot was given a contemporary twist for original copyright purposes (I'm hoping to publish this story). First chapters aren't my strong suit, so if you really want to quit reading after Chapter 1, I'd appreciate any feedback saying why. **

**My Milori/Clarion trilogy hit 1,000 positive reviews, although some readers said they weren't sold in the first chapter but were glad they gave it a couple more chapters before they were irrevocably hooked. I hope you'll give this one a few chapters too. :)**

* * *

_Rocky Mountains, Colorado_  
_December 15_

Another long, boring drive from Colorado to Chicago for the holidays, only to be badgered about turning thirty and being husbandless and babyless. She sighed and turned the wiperblades on. Where did this snow come from? Glancing at the clock of her car, she groaned. Two more hours until getting out of the mountains. The weather hadn't predicted a snowstorm. Maybe it was too small to have shown up on weather radar and it would pass as fast as it'd come. With these winding roads and cliffs, it might be better to pull over and wait it out. Her eyes scanned the road. Wait it out where? A cliff greeted the right side and the side of the mountain on the left. She tapped the breaks and dropped speed just in case it got slippery. Her thoughts wandered back to the holiday gathering this weekend at Nana's.

Nana's warbly, eighty-year-old voice rang in her head, "In my day, girls were married and had five babies by age 30. The only ones who didn't were the nuns."

She gripped the steeringwheel tighter. Then would come the drills from the younger cousins, who had all started families of their own, asking how long she'd been dating Mr. Right. She snorted. Mr. Right still didn't exist. Who knew, though? She could make him up and lie that he was on a business trip in France. She laughed to herself. Her female cousins would drool. Mr. Right would be sexy, a huge businessman, and...maybe have a mansion in LA and a villa in Italy. Perhaps the Christmas gathering would be fun this year.

Flipping the wipers on high, she frowned and looked up at the sky. The snow was coming hard now. Great. She couldn't turn around, and it probably wasn't safe to keep going. Tapping the brakes, she slowed to five miles an hour and prayed no one came barrelling up behind. Within seconds, a full blizzard unleashed, making visibility impossible.

Her heart raced with fear. This wasn't good. Dread bubbled up in her gut. Her knuckles turned white clutching the steeringwheel. The road disappeared within seconds. Everything disappeared except for a wall of white enveloping the car. She hit the brakes. The car slid to the right. Oh god, not the cliff! The car tilted at an angle and then went into a tailspin. "Noooo!" she screamed in terror. Just as suddenly, the seatbelt locked as her body was thrown against it. Pain shot up her shoulder from the impact. As if in slow motion, she saw the nose of the car wrap itself around a tree. The steering wheel seemed to come closer and closer as the car crumpled on itself like a candy wrapper. Her ankle caught in the collapsing metal. Pain exploded through her head as it smashed into the steering wheel. Then everything went black.

* * *

A male voice spoke low and quiet. Her head throbbed with each heartbeat, as if her pulse found it funny to drum on her brain. Memories of the car accident swam up. She laid in something soft and cool. A hospital bed? Her body felt heavy, and it took intense concentration to form a coherent thought, like they had to climb through molasses to take shape. Even opening her eyes proved to be too much effort. Slowly shifting her stiff leg a fraction, her ankle vehemently protested, drawing a whimper from her dry throat.

A large, warm hand came to rest on her bare shoulder. "Rest. You were in a car accident and have a concussion and a badly sprained ankle. Your collarbone may be fractured too." The deep voice was quiet and gentle—probably the attending physician. "Can you tell me your name?"

It took a moment to process his words. Then she opened her mouth and had to concentrate through the haze to speak. "Emma."

"Emma, is there anyone I should call?"

Her mouth felt full of cotton, and she tried to run her tongue over parched lips.

A strong arm slipped under her shoulders and very slowly eased her upright a bit. A cold glass pressed to her lips.

"Water."

She took a sip. The glass left her mouth. With a slight frown, she forced her eyes open to see who spoke. Looking up, everything was a blur. The room was dark. Shadows danced on the ceiling in an orange haze, as if on fire. The physician loomed as a dark silhouettte. Then everything dimmed and she felt her body relax as unconsciousness reclaimed her. But she wasn't afraid this time. It felt warm and safe here.

* * *

A clock struck in the distance. She blinked and slowly opened her eyes. The blurriness morphed into clear shapes. Sunlight poured into the room. She lay in a large bed covered in red satin sheets and an impossibly fluffy down comforter. The opposite wall held a magnificent mahogany fireplace. Beautiful relics that easily dated back a century adorned the mantle. A fire roared behind the grate, flooding the room with its warmth. The walls were decorated with dark wood paneling that matched the intricately carved wood nightstand to her left. On the far wall, massive windows caressed the belly of the majestic ceiling. The wall to her right cradled two doors.

A short woman puttered around the room. Her obviously dyed brown hair was in a topknot, and she wore an apron over her blue jeans and blouse. She bustled over to the mantle and brushed at one of the knicknacks with a rag. When she turned, her face lit up in a motherly way. "Oh! You're awake!" She flitted over, waving the dusty rag as she spoke with such animation. "How are you feeling? You took a nasty hit with a tree, dont'cha know. Are you hungry? I can whip up something. You'll love my tapioca."

She blinked at the woman, who appeared to be in her fifties. "Where am I?"

"Oh, don'tcha know? You're in D, I mean, Mr. Port's home." She set down the rag and scurried into the bathroom, not missing a beat in conversation as she washed her hands. "He said to try waking you every hour after he left, but it woulda been easier to wake the dead, ya know. I told him and told him. He's been on the phone for the last hour trying to figure out how to airlift you to a hospital." She came puttering back out and poured a glass of water from the pitcher on the nightstand. "He said you might have brain swelling. Here, you take this glass of water, and I'm going to let him know he can call off the Calvary." She set the glass down on the nightstand and then left.

She rubbed her head. That conversation was far too hard to keep up with in a healthy state, much less with a concussion. She eased up onto her right elbow, favoring the sore left collarbone, and looked around. Where was she?

The woman came bustling back in like the conversation hadn't ceased. "I don't think I said, I'm Trudy Van Hoodie, the housekeeper. Now, don't go makin' fun of my name. I'm from Minnesota, and it was popular to have your name rhyme, don'tcha know. My parents thought they were doin' me a favor, but I could wring their necks now, bless their souls." Trudy slipped another pillow under to prop her up in bed. "It's nearly noon, but I told Mr. Port my tapioca is good any time of day. It'll sit real nice even if you have a queasy stomach."

She cut in before Trudy bustled off again. Or didn't pause again in her monologue. "I don't know who Mr. Port is or where I am."

Trudy blinked and then smiled, ready to launch off again. "You are in the Rockies. No one lives up here besides Mr. Port, bless his soul. You'll meet him in time. Oh! Goodness me, I almost forgot." She pulled a pill bottle out of her pocket. "He said to ask if you have allergies. Don'tcha know, he's worried you'll be achin', so he sent me up with this."

Taking the offered bottle, she read the label. "Do I ask how Mr. Port has a manufacturer bottle of codeine?" She looked at Trudy with disapproval.

Trudy smiled. "Mr. Port does nothing dishonorable or illegal, or I'd turn in my resignation and go work on the sheep farm back in Minnesota, don'tcha know. We often get snowed in here in the mountains, so he keeps a small medical supply on hand. He said to give you one every six hours if you need it. Actually, he said to do it even if you argue because you'll regret it later. The meds he gave earlier will probably wear off soon, and ya don't want to be whimpering like a sheep dog in July." She took the bottle back and opened it.

"A what?" What on earth did a sheep dog have to do with anything?

Trudy pressed the pill into her palm and held out the glass of water. "Drink up. You'll be feelin' better in a bit, dont'cha know. I'll go make my tapioca." She pocketed the pill bottle and disappeared again.

She was exhausted by the time she ate the surprisingly tasty tapioca and Trudy helped her clean up as best as possible in bed. Her entire body felt like it'd been run over. Trudy towel dried her hair being her left shoulder hurt to lift her arm. The woman didn't pause in her chatter singing praises about Mr. Port, yet being frustratingly vague.

"How old is Mr. Port?" Clearly Trudy had a crush on him. The man may as well be a saint with how highly Trudy spoke of him.

With a giggle, Trudy simply shook her head.

She napped, with Trudy waking her every hour per Mr. Port's instructions due to the concussion. In between, she dreamed of this kind old Mr. Port, who seemed to live comfortably, if this room indicated his financial status.


	2. Chapter 2

Someone wiggled her good leg. "You need to wake up for a moment," a deep baritone coaxed.

Her eyes fluttered open to see the room dark, except for the flickering firelight. A black silhouette sat in a chair near the bed so his back was to the fire.

"Alright. I just needed to wake you because of the concussion. Go back to sleep," he said.

His voice was familiar—the one from last night. It sounded so soothing and warm, like a fuzzy mink blanket wrapping around her. She shivered, but not from the cold. He must have noticed because he stepped forward and pulled the covers up higher to her chin. Those hands weren't that of an older man, but of one in his prime—his hands were large and strong with veins chiseled to perfection that wove down to long, elegant fingers. Her eyes traveled up the sleeve of his white dress shirt, which did little to hide his corded arms. Very broad shoulders led up to...blackness and her own reflection where eyes should be. She startled.

He backed up to his chair near the foot of the bed and sat. "It's only sunglasses."

She frowned. He wouldn't be able to see in a room this dark.

"How are you feeling?" His silhouette appeared to sit back in the chair and rest his elbows on the chair arms.

"The codeine helps. Are you Mr. Port?" She pushed herself up a bit to recline against the pillows.

"Yes. Jason Port. And you're Emma...?"

She wanted to squirm, somehow feeling his eyes intently focused on her. "Hoplin." Her eyes narrowed. She had a bone to pick with him. "Trudy was a bit elusive when I asked how I ended up in this bed unclothed."

"I undressed you."

He said it so matter of fact and didn't seem embarrassed about taking such liberties. She swallowed hard.

"I didn't do anything improper. Besides stripping you."

Her face burned in embarrassment. "You're goading me."

"You flush quite nicely when goaded," he replied simply.

The flush grew, but it didn't stem from embarrassment this time. "You're a bit presumptuous to take such liberties."

"Ms. Van Hoodie was indisposed, Ms. Hopkin, and you needed to be checked immediately for injuries."

There was nothing to be done about it now even if he had peeked at her. "Trudy was also elusive about how I arrived here."

"Ms. Van Hoodie can be trying." He sounded slightly exasperated.

She frowned, not meaning anything against the woman. "Oh, no. She's very friendly and kind; she spoke very highly of you when she did reference you. Although I can't imagine why," she mumbled the last bit to herself.

"I happened to be coming home with my driver and spotted a glimpse of a glowing red taillight. You're quite lucky that a random tree was growing there. It kept your car from going off the cliff. The roads were impassible, so we dug you out ourselves and had to bring you here. As soon as the storm clears, you'll be flown to a hospital."

She flushed under his intense tone. "I don't think a hospital is necessary to trouble you with—"

"You'll be flown to a hospital for a scan to make sure you don't have any brain damage. Even the Navy Seals won't come out in this storm right now." His tone left no room for argument.

Had he actually called the Navy Seals? No, that wasn't possible. He seemed a bit used to getting his way and like he didn't appreciate the protesting, though. Well, she didn't need manhandling. Raising her chin, she said, "I'd like to call my family. They're expecting me tomorrow. Trudy said there is no cell phone reception. I'd like to use your landline." She had the feeling he cocked an eyebrow at her.

"Landlines do not reach this high in the mountains. The cell tower is down with this storm. As soon as it's up, you may call whoever you wish."

Her eyes narrowed. "Trudy said you were on the phone this morning calling for a flight to the hospital."

"The tower has since gone down. We've received three feet of snow thus far, and the storm shows no sign of finishing soon." He sounded irritated. Then he stood and spun around to walk to the far side of the room, melting into the shadows. A chair creaked. "I can appreciate your apprehension being trapped in a stranger's house. As soon as Ms. Van Hoodie has a decent night's sleep, I'll have her take my place in waking you each hour." He sounded patient again.

She didn't feel frightened around him, simply...like he could see right through her. It was unnerving. "Thank you, Mr. Port. For the rescue," she said sincerely.

He remained silent for a moment. His voice softened to a warm baritone. "You're welcome, Ms. Hoplin. I'll be here should you require anything."

A delicious shiver ran down her spine; his voice was like an intimate caress. Instinct whispered that he'd keep safe watch through the night. She slid down in bed a bit and winced when her ankle caught in the sheet.

He came back into the firelight, seeming ready to assist but hesitant to come close again.

"I'm fine," she gasped and bit her lip through the pain. The throbbing eased off, and he returned to the darkness. But she wanted him close again. She wanted to see him, this man who had saved her from freezing to death. "Your face is dark like you're wearing something."

"A ski mask." He continued before she could ask, "It's better this way."

"I don't understand. What's better?" Her brow furrowed.

"Go to sleep."

She laid down and stared at the firelight leaping and flickering on the white ceiling. How could she sleep when he sat watching? Her mind replayed their conversation. "Mr. Port, did you say you have a driver?" No normal man lived in what she'd likely discover to be a mansion, as soon as she could get up and explore. And no one had a driver, except a very wealthy or very important man. Her eyes slid to his corner, and she felt his gaze caressing. "Who are you, Mr. Port?"

"Go to sleep, Emma," he said huskily from the arms of the shadows.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: Thanks, Mselisabeth! You're the first one to favorite or review the story. :)  
**

**Apologies—I worked on the plot a little more, and I'm going to change the rating to M for upcoming chapters. It looks like a substantial amount of readers dropped off after Ch 1, so hopefully this doesn't affect many readers. First chapters aren't my strong suit, so any feedback about why you think readers quit would be appreciated so I can rewrite it. :)  
**

* * *

She must have slept deeply because the sun streamed into the bedroom when she opened her eyes again. Trudy had prepared bacon, pancakes and, of course, tapioca for breakfast. She scraped the bowl of tapioca clean.

Trudy sat in a chair beside the bed hand sewing something. "You cleaned up that tapioca like a cat with a lick of milk, don'tcha know. I told Mr. Port you'd like it. You must be from around Minnesota." She nodded to herself. "These Colorado people don't like their tapioca. It sticks to the ribs right tight in the winter. Keeps a body hearty."

She laughed. "I take it Mr. Port isn't so fond of it?"

Trudy snorted and gave her a look before resuming her sewing. "He says it's like sour milk. Sour milk indeed! I make him eat a cup of it a day; he has yet to fall ill. It's those probiotisos in there that do good."

"Probiotics, you mean?"

"That's what I said." She set the garment in her lap and leaned forward as if to tell a secret. "He fusses, like a baby on Groundhog Day, so I slip it into his pancake batter." Trudy nodded, seeming proud of herself and sat back.

Smothering a laugh, she had learned not to question Trudy's odd metaphors. "Quite clever of you. Have you been in Mr. Port's employment for long?" That didn't sound too obvious, yet it'd tell her more about the mysterious man.

Pursing her lips, Trudy appeared to think for a minute. "I'd say three years."

"Do you live here in the house?" She popped the last bit of pancakes and bacon in her mouth.

Trudy kept her eyes on the item she sewed. "I do. Never found myself a husband, so it suits me well to dote on Mr. Port. He's a good man and a generous employer, like a turkey on Thanksgiving. I have my own room and sitting room. He doesn't require me on weekends or holidays, so I either go visit my sister in Minnesota or go down to a small town at the bottom of this mountain."

"That must be a lot of driving to go to Minnesota in a weekend," she frowned. "Does he not give you more time off than that?"

Trudy smiled. "For tom cat's sakes, I take a plane. Mr. Port gives me ten plane tickets at Christmas to use when I want, don'tcha know. My sister's husband had a heart attack a couple months ago. Mr. Port had a large business deal going on and lots of work, but he kicked me out the door to go help my sister take care of the kids." She swallowed hard and dabbed at her eyes. "He even gave me a large sum of money to take to her for the medical bills."

Her eyebrows rose. "He must think very highly of you to be so generous."

"Pish posh. It's his way, don'tcha know." Before she could ask what Trudy meant, the woman continued. "I shouldn't be gossiping about him so. Where are you from, Ms. Hoplin?"

"Emma. I'm from Chicago, but I moved to Colorado on the other side of the Rockies a couple years ago. I took a job as a financial adviser after grad school, but I hated it."

"Is that your degree?" Trudy's eyes remained on her sewing, but she seemed very curious.

"No. I actually have a master's in medical writing, but it's harder to get started in the field than I thought."

Trudy smiled, as if very pleased with her answer.

"I've been unemployed for two weeks." She sighed. "I was on my way to Chicago for a family Christmas this weekend. Not anymore now with my car totaled. What is it you're sewing?" The item looked small and black.

"Nothin'." Trudy tucked it into her sewing basket on the floor and then stood. "I'll take the tray. Then what say you about a bath?"

She sighed wistfully. "That would be marvelous."

"I told Mr. Port that a bath is as good as any medicine for a woman. He said you may if you don't put weight on your foot. I'll be back in a hop-skippity minute." Trudy had barely been gone a minute when she reappeared with a cell phone. "Mr. Port said before he went to bed this morning to have you try calling your family. I imagine they're climbing the walls like a cat's pajamas with worry." Trudy handed over the phone.

"Oh. Thank you. Yes, they're probably wondering why I haven't checked in." She touched the screen of the latest model of a smartphone and dialed. It didn't connect. She frowned and leaned forward a bit to try to see out the window. "Is it still snowing?"

"Like a babe's pa-tooty."

That must be a 'yes.' She set the phone down on the bed with a sigh. "Well, perhaps it'll quit soon."

Dear Trudy made a great effort, but the degree of soreness required strength beyond Trudy's. They made it as far as a sit on the edge of the bed. "Let me fetch Mr. Port. He's probably waking up by now. Not one for sleeping."

She flushed. "No, don't trouble him. I'm sure I just need to sit up and stretch a bit."

"Hot water is what will do a world of good. He said to fetch him if we needed." She bustled around the room drawing the curtains closed.

"Trudy, please," she pleaded. "He was up all night waking me up. Let him sleep; I'll keep."

"He'd have my head knowing I let you sit here aching when he could help us get you to the tub." Then she swept out of the room.

Her face burned with embarrassment. She hadn't showered in over a day, the flannel nightgown was Trudy's and far too big and short, and her hair probably looked like a rat's nest. Plus, she probably had a massive bruise smack in the middle of her forehead. She sensed that Mr. Port was a man with more power than she yet knew, and these had not been good first impressions. Adding to the pile of bad impressions wasn't at the top of her list. Thank heavens the room was dim, at least.

A heavy tread hit the hardwood floor. He appeared in the doorway. Her heart flip-flopped and skipped a beat.

He wore black shoes. Black slacks clung to his long legs and trim hips. Again he wore a white dress shirt, but the sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing arms much more muscled than she had realized last night. The shirt stretched taught over broad shoulders. The top couple buttons were undone, as if he hadn't quite finished dressing when he'd been interrupted. She flushed when he came closer, revealing a sprinkling of chest hair peeking out. He wore a black ski mask again, only this time instead of sunglasses, the right eye hole was sewn shut. The right side of the mouth opening had been sewn shut too. His left eye stood out, a vibrant blue. She swallowed hard and tilted her head up to meet his eye at his substantial height.

"I'm honestly fine," she said, her voice softer than intended. "I didn't mean to disturb you."

He stood there, his eye traveling down her and back up.

She wrapped an arm around herself, feeling naked under his gaze.

"You're sore."

She blinked.

"Your breathing is shallow, and you're slouched a bit as if it pains your back to straighten." He bent and scooped her up without any effort.

Her breath caught in her throat. His body heat penetrated straight through their clothes and burned her skin. Every muscle of his chest that touched her was perfectly hard and outlined. Her mouth went dry. She tried to lift her right arm to wrap around his neck to help take her weight.

"Be still, and don't aggravate your collarbone. I won't drop you." His voice was patient and a hint deeper than a moment ago.

His shoulder was right beside her cheek, begging her head to rest on it. She felt so safe and calm in his arms. He carried her across the room with ease.

Trudy ran ahead to the washroom and darkened the room.

She'd forgotten about Trudy the moment he'd stepped into the room. Glancing up at him, she found him looking down at her. His eye seemed to pierce right into her heart. She flushed and looked away.

The washroom housed a large marble soaking tub to the right. He didn't set her to her feet but walked over to the tub. He slowly eased her down into it. While carefully withdrawing his arm from behind her, the large collar of the nightgown slipped off her left shoulder. His gaze landed on it, and his hand lightly brushed over bare skin.

Surely he could hear the rapid beating of her heart.

His fingers grazed over her collarbone, moving toward her neck. Then he slowly began undoing her top button.

She met his eye, almost wanting more. She bit her bottom lip.

"Your shoulder is badly bruised," he said, his voice husky. Then he undid the button and bared her other shoulder. His eye dropped to her neck, and his hand slid over her right collarbone. "It's not swollen. Perhaps simply bruised, not fractured." Both of his hands glided from each shoulder to meet in the middle at the hollow spot of her throat. "Your heart is beating fast." His voice fell to nearly a whisper, and a warm finger stroked the pulse at her throat.

"I'd like to take my bath now," she said softly.

The corner of his eye crinkled and perfect, pearly white teeth showed, as if smiling. "Of course. Summon me when you're decent again, and I'll get you out of the tub." He let his hand sweep away from her throat as he stood, making her ache with desire.

Her eyes followed him out, and she released a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding. Trudy stepped in and chattered while getting everything ready for the bath. Staring blindly at the empty doorway, she cupped her cheeks to cool the flush. She didn't hear a word Trudy said.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: I combined chapters 1 and 2 (I think the intro was too short to catch attention, so maybe that's why readers were dropping off). The renumbering messed up chapter numbers, so some of you who originally read chapter 3 might need to read it again because it's new content. Sorry!**

**Thank you so much for the wonderful review and PM, YazminXD! :D**

* * *

She washed in private after Trudy lit a couple candles "for relaxing." With a sigh of relief, she sank down to her neck in the steaming water and let it relax her aching body. It was somewhat of a large bathroom. The candles reflected warm golden light off the carmel brown marble walls. The counter appeared to be cherry wood with a high-gloss finish and ornate scrolling carved on the edge and the cabinets beneath. Just above it hung a large square mirror framed in beautiful antique gold finished wood.

There was a knock on the door, and Trudy popped her head in. "Wouldcha like some music? I have my music do-hicky." She held up her smartphone. "Mr. Porter taught me how to put on music. You hit this button here, and then you swipe your finger like this to search the songs." She reached around the door with the cell phone and demonstrated. "It's kinda complicated until you get used to it. I kept swiping right past the song I wanted the first day. I told Mr. Port to take it back, I didn't need no high fallutin' phone, don'tcha know. He told me to be patient, and I love it right up there with Jesus now. I have mostly country 'cause that's what we listen to in Minnesota. None of that Jesus-hatin' rock stuff the kids listen to nowadays, dont'cha know."

She stifled a laugh. "No, I'm alright. Thank you, Trudy."

"Okay. I'll just be out here doin' my sewing then. You just yell if you need me. I'll hear you like a tornado siren." Trudy closed the door.

Unable to hold back a laugh, she shook her head. Trudy certainly was colorful, and she could see why Mr. Port kept the woman around.

When the water began to cool, she drained the tub and waited for the water to go down so she could dry off in the tub.

Someone knocked on the door again. Trudy peek in. "I heard the drain. The towel's right...oh, ya got it. I'll go fetchya a fresh nightgown." Trudy disappeared and entered a moment later. "Do you need more medicine? Mr. Port said you can have a half tablet, if needed." Trudy laid out a fresh flannel nightgown on the counter and turned. With a gasp, her hand flew to her mouth. "You poor thing, you're black and blue!"

Looking down at herself, she took in the bruising on her torso and hips from the seat belt, as well as her black, swollen ankle. "I think it looks worse than it is."

Trudy helped wrap a towel around her in the tub and then stepped toward the door.

"No! Trudy, please," she begged.

Trudy spun around with wide eyes.

"Help me up onto the edge of the tub so I can get dressed. Don't bring him in when I'm naked." She clutched the towel that was tucked together at her chest.

With an understanding smile, Trudy stepped closer. "He's a good man. I'm not strong enough to help you up in a wet tub."

Utterly mortified, she tried getting up. Her back tensed before she'd even gotten up a couple inches, and she slipped back into the tub. Trudy hurried out, and she closed her eyes in humiliation, clutching her towel against her chest in a death grip.

His heavy footstep sounded on the tile floor, and she tensed. Her body clenched so tight it hurt. She sensed him standing beside the tub, and she hunched her shoulders and curled her knees to her chest a little without exposing herself. Her eyes focused on her lap as her long, damp auburn hair dripped down her shoulders and back.

He took a couple steps backwards and spoke softly. "Ms. Van Hoodie, fetch my bathrobe. It will give her more modesty."

"I'll be back in a lick-splickity minute."

Silence lasted for only a second.

"Ms. Van Hoodie said your bruising is extensive. May I check your back when she returns? It seems to be bothering you more than it should."

She looked up at him and was surprised when he squatted to be eye level with her.

Calm patience exuded from him, and his blue eye studied her intently. "You don't need to be frightened," he said gently. "Who hurt you?"

Swallowing hard, she bit her lip for a moment. How did he know? "An ex-boyfriend," she whispered, unable to look away. "He came over to my apartment to talk after we broke up." Her eyes dropped to his feet, not wanting to relive the memory but wanting him to know for some reason. "A neighbor called the police because of the noise. They arrived before he did anything." Her eyes traveled back up to his.

He held her gaze. "Except teach you to be frightened of what a man could do," he said quietly. "No harm will come to you here."

She searched his eye, absorbing his words. "Why do you wear the mask?"

Trudy bustled in with the large terrycloth bathrobe. "Forgot I left it in the dryer. It's as warm as an Alabama sun, don'tcha know," she chattered, oblivious to the interruption.

Mr. Port didn't move. Or break his gaze.

She flushed and looked away.

Trudy stilled, with the robe in her arms. She looked from one to the other. "Is everything alright?"

"May I?" he asked.

Her brow furrowed, and then she realized what he was waiting for. With a nod, she loosened her grip on the towel and untucked it enough to let it droop a little down her back as she leaned forward.

He got up and knelt beside the tub.

Warm hands swept her wet hair over her right shoulder, and then the pads of his fingers skimmed along her spine. Shivers skittered through her.

"Are you cold, Emma?" he whispered in a husky voice for her ears alone.

She bit her lip and gave a small shake of her head, but refused to look in his direction. His tone said he knew exactly why she'd shivered. His fingers gently kneaded the muscles across her shoulders. At first the muscles cramped a bit, and she bit her lip.

"You have whip lash locking up your back," he said.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him nod and then heard Trudy slip out of the room.

His other hand joined in as he slowly massaged her shoulders and the base of her neck. The tips of his fingers pressed into the muscles with just enough pressure. The relief from the aching was so overwhelming that her eyes rolled back and her chin dropped to her chest. Her lips parted slightly, and her breathing slowed and deepened. Those magnificent hands worked their way down to the middle of her back, his force gently rocking and lulling her into a relaxed state of semiconsciousness. She melted under his hands.

He took his time working back up to her shoulders, and then his thumbs rubbed small circles on each side of her spine up her neck to the base of her skull. His fingers rubbed the sides of her neck below her ears, where she hadn't even realized it hurt.

She sighed, utterly captivated under his spell.

"Better?" he whispered. His hands glided up into her scalp and massaged.

Her head leaned back into his hands on its own accord, and her breathing quickened slightly to soft panting. Her scalp tingled in both an erotic and relaxing way. One of his hands glided around to cup her jaw and slowly turned her head to face him. Her sleepy eyes fluttered open, her head resting on his hand that cradled like a pillow.

A blue eye searched her face. "That's the most pain-free you've looked yet," he said softly, as if pleased. Then he wrapped the robe around her and scooped her up.

Sleep threatened to claim her, and her body relaxed so completely she didn't want to fight it. She rested her head against his chest and closed her eyes, utterly content to sleep in his arms. His long, sure strides gently rocked her closer to slumber.

"I talked to the flight tower, and there's going to be a break in the storm in a few minutes. We're going to slip through and get you to the hospital to be examined."

His voice vibrated low in his warm chest, a comforting sensation against her cheek. His words slowly sank in, and she blinked, trying to wake up. Disappointment flitted through her heart. He eased her down to sit on the edge of the bed, tucking the robe around her for modesty.

Trudy returned with a small suitcase. "I was ready to go just in case. All I have that won't fall off her is another flannel nightgown."

He straightened and set his hands on his trim hips, turning his head to Trudy. "She can wear my parka too. Help her dress. We have five minutes." Then he left.

"How are we going to drive through the snow?"

Trudy laughed and helped get her left arm through the armhole. "We'll take the helicopter from the roof. By flight, it's just three minutes to the hospital, don'tcha know."

She slipped on heavy wool socks, Trudy helping with her swollen ankle. "Whose helicopter?"

"Here, I'll brush your hair." Trudy seemed to deliberately change the topic.

There was a knock at the door.

"Come in!" Trudy called and quickened her brushing.

He strode in wearing a heavy sweater, blue jeans, and snowboots, and carried a black and red parka and snowpants. Trudy took them, and he left again. Once she was dressed in what must be his wintergear because it was far too large, Trudy left with the suitcase. He entered and pulled up her parka hood before scooping her up. He carried her down a long corridor as majestically decorated with dark wood as her room, and up a staircase. They passed through a door and stood in a three-by-four-foot, cold room. Another door opened, and a blast of cold air assaulted her face.

She huddled into his arms until he stepped out. Snowflakes gently fluttered from the ovecast sky, a far cry from the blizzard yesterday. With disappointment, she noticed the snowfall was too hard for a view of what would probably be breathtaking scenery from a mountaintop.

Snow crunched under his boots as he walked across the roof. A helicopter perched in the center of the pad, and a man in heavy snowgear sprayed de-icing liquid on the chopper. Trudy sat inside already.

The man stopped spraying and opened the passenger door so she could be carefully deposited her inside. The man closed the door, and Mr. Port trotted around the chopper to climb into the pilot seat.

"You're flying?" Her heart jumped into her throat. Outflying a blizzard seemed dangerous enough without doing it with one eye covered too.

He leaned over and whipped the belt across her hips and then down over each shoulder. "It's legal," he answered, apparently knowing her thoughts. Then he buckled himself, and the man outside gave a signal. He started up the chopper and put on a headset.

Trudy tapped her shoulder. She looked, and Trudy pointed to her own headset on and then to the front. Her eyes followed, and she put on a headset.

"Come in TWSI68. This is Carolina Five requesting takeoff..."

She watched him flip switches and communicate to the tower for flight clearance. The blades picked up speed and whirled in a loud, droning hum. Then they began to hover. She looked out her window to see the rooftop fade away. A white veil limited the view of everything, so she glanced over her shoulder at Trudy. The poor woman had her eyes squeezed shut and hands folded, her lips muttering as if in prayer.

"She hates heights," he said over the headset. "You?"

Turning her attention to him, she shook her head.

"Good." Then they picked up speed, and he kept in constant contact with the tower to be their eyes. His movements never hesitated to hit buttons; his voice never waivered over the radio. Listening intently, she even heard him once gently correct the tower on some kind of trajectory. She watched him, completely mesmerized.

Right on schedule, three minutes later they landed on a large red cross on a rooftop. Two doctors ran out onto the pad toward the chopper.

She looked at him in question when he leaned over from the pilot seat and unbuckled her but didn't shut down the engine. "You're going back?" Going to the emergency department instantly seemed frightening. She'd just assumed he'd be there in the background watching over everything; watching over her.

"The pad has to be clear for their EMS helicopter. Ms. Van Hoodie will go with you. I left her with instructions." His gaze was calm and steady. And it gave her courage.

The physician opened the door and scooped her out. Trudy scrambled out behind. As the doctors raced across the pad with her and Trudy followed behind rambling off details of the accident from a piece of paper, she looked over the doctor's shoulder.

The chopper slowly rose and then leaned to the left in a tight turn to retrace its path. She watched until it disappeared into a curtain of snowflakes...and silently wished he'd turn around.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews, Hayden Avery, Snowflake Fairy, YazminXD and Milarion Fairy Lover! I'm so happy to hear that several of you've crossed over from Tinkerbelle fanfic to follow me on B&amp;B! :) X **

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She hated hospitals. The doctors whirled her from one test to another while Trudy had to remain in the waiting room. Nerves kept her from thinking too much about Mr. Port; other than desperately wishing he'd show up. His calm, in-control demeanor would make everything less frightening. It was hours later when the results came back and she was admitted for overnight observation.

Trudy came shooting into the room in her coat and dragging the wheeled suitcase, which bounced and stumbled behind her to keep up. "Flip me over and call me done, they're telling me nothing. I was about ready for them to say you'd met Jesus, don'tcha know." She rushed over to the bed and engulfed her in a hug.

She held Trudy tight and swallowed back tears of relief to have someone here. "The doctor just left. He said I have to stay the night because there is slight brain swelling in one spot-"

"Wait." Trudy pulled back, dug a cellphone out of her pocket and started dialing. "Would you tell Mr. Port and I'll listen? He's had me calling hourly. Sometimes I get a signal for a couple minutes."

She nodded.

"Mr. Port, they finished the tests. Here she is." Trudy handed her the phone.

"Hi." She suddenly felt embarrassed and glanced at Trudy, who smiled encouragingly.

"Hello. Are you alright?" He sounded a hint anxious. It seemed odd to think he could worry about anything; he seemed so cool and composed, like even the end of the world wouldn't faze him.

"Yeah, it's just some whiplash and a bruised shoulder. There might be a small ankle fracture."

"And the concussion?"

She nibbled her lip and glanced at Trudy, who looked concerned. "Did you by chance grab my purse out of the car?"

"Getting you out unbalanced your car enough that it went over the cliff. You nearly went with it."

She rubbed her eyes. There went any chance of selling it for parts to buy another car. Lovely.

"The roads are still too hazardous for anyone to find and steal your purse," he continued, sounding impatient. "What did they say about your head?"

Nibbling her lip, she hesitated.

"Emma, I'll ask Trudy if you won't tell me," he said gently.

She swallowed hard. "I have to stay for overnight observation. There's a little brain swelling in one spot. He said it's a contusion...?"

"A bruise on the brain. I had one myself once. How bad is it? What are they doing for treatment?"

Wrapping an arm around herself, frightened tears surfaced. She felt so overwhelmed and scared. Mom and Dad would worry, thereby make her worry more. But instinct said he would quietly and proactively take control of the situation and make her fears melt away. "They're watching it to see if it worsens. He said surgery is the worst case." Her voice cracked. She wanted him here. Then she handed the phone to Trudy, not hearing what he replied.

Trudy set a hand over hers and spoke into the phone. "I think she's done talking...Yes, I think that would help..." She lowered the phone for a moment. "He asked if he may speak to the doctor."

She nodded and brushed at her eyes.

"Yes, sir...Alright, I'll tell her..." She looked at the phone in confusion. "Mr. Port?" Then she hung up and looked at her. "Lost the signal. He said you'll have to sign your consent. I'll go get the papers from a nurse. He also said to see if you can reach your parents." Trudy pulled out some kind of credit card from her purse and dialed on the patient landline phone beside the bed before handing over the phone. "Here. Just dial their number."

Her mouth dropped open for a moment. "I can't. It's long distance. Paying by the minute is too expensive."

Trudy took her hand and pressed the phone into it, wrapping her fingers around the phone. A soft smile touched her lips. "He insisted. Don'tcha get me in trouble for not followin' orders." Then she left to find a nurse.

Taking a deep breath to compose herself, she dialed.

"Hello?"

"Mama?" The tears returned hearing Mom's soft voice.

"Emma? Baby, where are you? We've been calling and calling you. Peter, it's Emma," she said to Emma's father. "I'm putting you on speaker."

"Emma, what happened? Are you alright?" her dad asked, his voice colored with worry. "I heard a snowstorm suddenly hit out there."

She covered her mouth and took a shakey breath. Crying would make them more worried. "I'm okay. I had a car accident-"

"What?! Oh my god, are you hurt?" her mother asked.

"I'm okay. Just a little bruised. I got knocked out, so I'm just in the hospital overnight for observation. A passerby saw my car and got me out before the car went over the cliff. I can't...I don't have a car to make it home for Christmas."

"We're coming, baby. Peter, go sell the bonds at the bank and get plane tickets."

"No, Mom, I'm okay. Besides, the storm is going pretty hard yet."

"Yeah, Becky, all the airports are shut down out there," her dad said.

"I'm okay. The housekeeper of the man who found me is staying here. She's very sweet."

"What man?" her father pounced, sounding protective.

"A stranger, but he's been very kind. He and his housekeeper have been taking care of me at his home, and he flew me in a helicopter to the hospital when there was a break in the storm."

"What?! You stay there. We'll figure out a way there. Don't you go back to a stranger's house. He could be a psycho killer," her mom panicked.

"Becky, calm down. What's his name?"

"Jason Port."

"What's his address and phone number?" he asked.

"I don't know. He doesn't have a landline, and the cell reception is bad with the storm. His house is in the the mountains."

Trudy walked back in with a paper.

She covered the mouthpiece. "Trudy, my parents are a little freaked out and asking for Mr. Port's address and number."

"Of course." Trudy rattled off the information.

"Trudy, his housekeeper, is back. Here's his info, Dad." She repeated it.

"You call three times a day, alright?" her mother demanded.

Her lip quivered. "OK, Mama."

"Baby, are you sure you're okay? You only call me 'Mama' when you're upset."

"No, I'm good."

"What hospital are you at?" her dad asked.

When she finally hung up, she burst into tears.

Trudy sat on the edge of the bed and held her tight. "It'll be alright. Shhhh." Her hand stroked up and down the back of the hospital gown.

She found some measure of comfort from Trudy and soon fell asleep from exhaustion for a couple hours.

Trudy, not surprisingly, had a hodge podge of items in her purse, including cards. They played several games and had dinner. Trudy worked hard to distract her, but the nurses coming in every hour made it harder and harder to put on a brave face. She watched a terrible soap opera on TV with Trudy but fell asleep before the show finished. It was then that Mr. Port came to her in her dreams.

Someone was watching her sleep that night. She opened her eyes. The only light that leaked in came from the hall through the door cracked open. A black figure sat in a chair beside the bed, and Trudy was nowhere in sight. She gasped, shooting up in bed in the dark room. Her heart shot in her throat. Fear wrapped it's boney fingers around her neck, making it hard to breathe.

"It's only me, Emma," a deep timber said quietly.

She sighed in profound relief...and then her heart took off for a different reason.

It was Mr. Port.


	6. Chapter 6

So much relief swept through her that she sniffled and a big tear fell onto the bed.

His silhouette sat forward, and a warm hand rested over hers and gently squeezed.

"I'm not usually so emotional." She tried to laugh, but it came out more as a choked sob.

He reached into a pocket and handed over a white handkerchief. "We'll blame it on the concussion. It can cause mood swings for a few days."

She dabbed at her eyes, grateful he was willing to believe this the exception rather than the norm. "Where's Trudy?"

"Stevens, my driver, has a pilot's license. I'm staying the night, and he took her home. Get your rest, Emma."

What had changed his mind? Stevens could have flown them in the first place. "Why did you come?"

He heaved a sigh, seeming frustrated she wasn't going back to sleep. "You sounded upset on the phone, and Ms. Van Hoodie said you're nervous being here." Then he sat back.

A blush crept up her cheeks. Thank goodness for the darkness.

"The neurologist returned my call a bit ago. He said he expects to discharge you in the morning, but you're to have limited physical activity for a few weeks, which your ankle will help hold you back. A contusion can be fatal if you sustain another head injury soon. He sees no need for surgery or anything at this time."

Her shoulders sagged with relief. "Thank you for talking to him. I think I was stressed and didn't really absorb what he said."

"It's alright to be human, Emma."

She searched the black silhouette of his face, caught off guard by his compassion. Men who exuded such control and power rarely seemed to be so forgiving of weakness.

"You look like something's on your mind."

"You simply surprise me."

"Then we're even."

What on earth could be surprising about her? "Why the mask?"

The silence stretched on for so long that he probably wasn't going to answer. He leaned his elbows on his knees, and his eye glowed slightly in the hall light. He said in a tone of steel, "I don't talk about it, and I expect you won't either."

She blinked, taken aback by his abrasive manner. "I'm not one of your servants." Her gaze met his.

He sat back, his eye retreating to the shadows. He leaned an elbow on the armrest and held his chin. "Ms. Van Hoodie tells me you're unemployed at the moment. I have a proposition for you."

A shiver of desire snaked up her spine. At the same time as revolusion. "No."

"I beg your pardon?"

Her eyes pierced him, hurt and disgusted. "I'm not going to be your mistress."

Silence. "You're attractive, but I had no intention of proposing that."

"You didn't?" Well now she felt sheepish.

"No. Tempting offer, but I'm not really into degrading women."

What other proposition would a secluded man whom she barely knew make? Plus, he hadn't been embarrassed about undressing her after the accident. Maybe the floor would open and swallow her up. Any second would be a good time.

He crossed his legs and continued as if nothing had happened, bless his heart. "I need someone who is good with numbers, who has experience with accounting. I have a business, and I suspect my accountant might be embezeling. It's about two years of records I'd need you to go through. It would likely take you three months."

She cocked an eyebrow. "And this is a legal business?"

"Of course. I can show you the business license."

"Where is this business?"

"In California, but I have the records at my house. The electronic records magically disappeared, but the accountant doesn't know backup hard copies are made at the end of every day by a very trusted source. I need these records safely guarded, so I could have an office set up for you in my home."

She shook her head. "I live two hours from your home."

"You would have free lodging in your current bedroom here."

Letting the details roll around in her head, she reached for the water glass beside the bed. "Would there be a salary too?" She took a sip.

"Of course. $80,000."

She choked on the water. He stepped forward and took the glass so she could cough into the handkerchief. Dabbing at her mouth, she cleared her throat. "Why me? I don't even have a finance degree."

He sat. "I don't want to spend the funds for a full forensic accountant for this particular business, but I need someone who is a whiz with numbers. Your background with Lloyd &amp; Lloyd Associates in business law is impressive, and clearly your university degree minor in forensic accounting was sufficient for them. You figured out cases their senior accountant couldn't."

"You did your homework, I see." Opening her mouth to speak again, a nurse came in.

"Oh, you're awake. Good." The nurse flipped on the light.

Her eyes flew to him, worried if the nurse had caught him unaware with his mask. But he stood looking out the window with his back to them and the hood of his black sweatshirt pulled over his head. To the common bystander, nothing appeared out of the ordinary.

The nurse checked her neuro reflexes again and a couple other vitals. "I'll be by to wake you in two hours again." Then she left and flipped off the light.

He returned to the chair.

"What's the catch? No one gives $80,000 for three months of work when the person doesn't even have the credentials."

Slowly easing up to sit on the edge of the bed, he turned toward her with his face concealed in the shadows. His voice was low and intimate when he spoke. "I'm very selective with the people I keep in my house. They must have a degree of kindness and trustworthiness that few possess."

She cocked her head, not quite sure what he meant.

"Stevens and Ms. Van Hoodie are the only others in my house. I'm very private, so I ask you don't bring anyone into the house without asking and only when I'm gone-"

"Who are you?" she whispered. "Are you some kind of billionaire or famous person? Is that why you hide your face?"

"I won't repeat myself," he warned.

Her eyes narrowed. "Or what?" She sensed his irritation that she pushed the limits, but she wanted to know his temper if she was going to be in his secluded home.

He captured her jaw in his palm, but not in a threatening way. "Or Stevens takes you home that hour." His eye was so close it glinted in the dim light. "If you expect some kind of physical abuse, you'll be sorely disappointed, Emma," he answered in a low, almost seductive voice. "A mask does not make a monster."

"You're a stranger in a remote home who won't let his face be seen. What should I think?" she whispered, wanting to trust him.

"What do _you_ think? Not your parents but you."

Her eyebrows rose. "What?"

"Your parents love you very much, and it was apparent when your father called me and said he'd call his friends at the FBI if I harmed a hair on you. A good father, but I'm merely a name to them. You know me a bit better than them. I'll provide references if you desire."

Heat pooled in her belly. Oh, she certainly desired. "You haven't answered my question," she whispered, her voice slightly husky.

"I promise I have more to fear from you than you do from me."


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews, pichon, YazminXD and Milarion Fairy Lover! I started a new job, so it took awhile to polish up this chapter.**

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Mr. Port had insisted she go back to sleep last night and asked her to consider his offer. Trudy had already taken his place when she woke up the next afternoon. The conversation the previous night kept rolling over and over in her head as the hospital discharged her.

She had crutches for her ankle that rubbled under her arms terribly, and a walking cast to use in a week. The nurse said to get dressed to go home and stepped out.

Trudy set her small suitcase on the chair and unzipped it. "The roads cleared this morning, don'tcha know, so Mr. Port had me pick up some clothes for you to get by with. I have as much fashion sense as a cow on Friday, so he looked online and told me what to pick up. You're as small as a mouse in the Arctic, but I think something in here should fit." She laid out a pair of jeans, black dress pants, and khakis, and then a red sweatshirt, ivory blouse, and purple sweater. And a sky blue parka. All of them bore name brands. Trudy stood back with her hands folded proudly and smiled. "He wasn't sure of your style, so we picked out a range."

She sat on the edge of the bed and fingered the silky cashmere sweater. "Trudy, it's very sweet that you went to this trouble, but I can't afford these, especially after this hospital bill."

"Gooseberry day, he wouldn't accept money. When Mr. Port hands you something, it's a gift. He'd take it like a chicken to a wolf if you tried to pay him. He gave me a cell phone when I first went on a plane so I could call if I had trouble coming home. I offered him money, and he got mighty offended, don'tcha know. He said if I thought he did things with strings attached, I could find another job."

She cocked her head. "Is he truly a good employer? Does he have a bad temper?"

With a shake of her head, she smiled. "He's never said a harsh word or yelled. He does have little tolerance for anyone who doesn't have a good heart, though. What makes you ask?"

Studying Trudy's expression, it became apparent that Mr. Port hadn't divulged the employment proposition. "Just wondering." She selected the sweater and jeans and went into the washroom on crutches to dress.

It was the first time she'd been back on her own feet since the accident and finally had an opportunity to see herself in the mirror. She gasped, utterly horrified. Everyone had seen her like this! A large dark purple bruise tattooed the middle of her forehead and had apparently drained down. Her nose appeared swollen, and her hazel eyes looked like she'd taken punches in a bar fight. "Trudy!"

Trudy whipped open the door. "What's wrong?"

"My face! No one told me I look like the living dead!" She gaped at her reflection.

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph, you scared me." She laid a hand over her heart. "You've been in an accident is all, don'tcha know. The physician mentioned it's just bruising."

That was an understatement. Leaning closer to the mirror, she touched her black eye. "Tell me you brought makeup."

"Ya don't need it. You were in a car accident, and no one expects you to look like a high falutin' Queen of Sheba. I don't wear makeup myself."

She groaned.

"You're not worried what anybody thinks of how you look, are ya? I promise Mr. Port only sees what's inside of people and could give a snake's dinner what they look like." She grabbed the brush and went to work.

Trudy did have a point. He didn't seem to notice the bruises. A blush crept up her face remembering his backrub in the tub.

"Perhaps you should sit. You're looking flushed." Trudy almost seemed to be smiling to herself.

The nurse insisted it was hospital policy to take her in a wheelchair to the front doors. A dark blue car was parked in front of the doors, with the back windows tinted so no one could see inside. "Is this your ride?" the young nurse asked.

"Like a babe's pa-tooty," Trudy answered.

A bald man in his late thirties and about as large as Mr. Port got out of the driver's seat and came around. "Stevens, Ms. Hoplin," he introduced himself. Then he opened the back door.

The nurse wheeled the chair closer to the door until it was one step away from the car.

Trudy and Stevens helped her up and pivot into the dark car. She sat on the leather seat and swung her legs in. Stevens shut the door and loaded the crutches in the trunk while Trudy got into the front passenger seat. A dark pane of glass separated the front and back seats.

She frowned. Was this an old police car that it had a divider? Something in the other corner of the backseat moved. Her heart lurched into her throat. Then her eyes adjusted to the dimness. It was a person. Mr. Port sat beside her in the other corner, wearing all black again. She instantly turned her face toward the window on her right. He didn't need to see her looking like a Halloween zombie.

Stevens started driving.

"My apologies for not helping you in. How are you feeling?" The low rumble of his voice seemed so familiar and comforting now, sending warm shivers though her body and out to her fingertips.

"Better." She bit her lip; her face burned hot like it would spontaneously burst into flames. Silence dragged on. The intensity of his gaze on the back of her head was palpable across the seat.

"Did my proposition offend you?" A tinge of confusion tinted his voice.

She let her hair fall forward to shield the left side of her face and block his view. "No...I had access to a mirror this morning."

Strong fingers swept her hair back to tuck it behind her ear. "Do not hide from me. It's simply bruising."

His touch was electrifying. She couldn't stop her eyes from fluttering shut for an instant at the contact. When his fingers withdrew, she quietly released a shakey breath. A sideways glance showed his eye taking in her every move. Her pulse quickened.

He hit a button on the door, and the divider window rolled down a bit. "Stevens, please stop at a drug store on the way. Ms. Hoplin would like to get some makeup." He looked at her expectantly.

She blushed and nodded. How did he know?

"Yes, sir."

Then he rolled the window back up.

"I need to stop at the bank...oh." Her shoulders sagged. She had no identification.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet.

"No," she protested and held up a hand.

"Stevens and I were unable to find your purse this morning, so I took the liberty of reporting it missing to the local police. You'll have to call your bank and report everything missing." He caught her hand and pressed a $50 bill into it. "Take it," he ordered.

She lowered her hand and stared at the bill, remembering Trudy's words about offering to repay him. "Thank you for the clothes," she blurted to change the subject. "It wasn't necessary."

"You're welcome."

Embarrassment burned hot in her cheeks. "May I also use your phone to go on the Internet for a moment and make a call?"

He pulled out his cell and handed it to her.

She logged in to her medical insurance site and then looked up the number for the hospital. "Billing, please," she told the operator.

The representative answered and asked for her name.

"Emma Hoplin. I have my insurance information." She proceeded to give it.

"Would you like a credit on the account?" the woman asked in confusion.

"Sorry?"

"We have a $21,000 payment made this morning in cash."

She stared at the back of the passenger seat, her mind trying to wrap around the news. "Oh you did, did you?" Her eyes slowly swung around to him. He appeared to be looking out the window, oblivious to the conversation. Of course he wasn't, given their tight quarters. "Please send through the insurance and return the $21,000 as a check to Mr.-"

His head whipped around, and he looked irritated.

"I can't return that much money, ma'm. I can credit it..."

Her jaw clenched, and she looked back out the window before she lost her temper. The arrogance to just... "I'll call you back," she bit out. She jammed her thumb onto the hang up button and slid the phone across the seat to him. Then she tossed the money into his lap. Looking for a button to roll down the window, she started pressing whatever she encountered. Her own window cracked, the seat started warming, and the sunroof started to open. Only one button remained. She set a finger on it.

A large hand suddenly covered hers as he leaned across the seat. "Stop," he said calmly.

She jerked her hand away and glared at him as he sat back. "No! You stop! I'm not some _thing_ you can buy or control! You throw clothes and money at me, and I'm supposed to be indebted so then I'll agree to work for you?" Seething didn't even begin to describe rage bubbling up inside.

The side of his pink lips that were visible tightened, and his eye narrowed. "I don't buy or control people. Even if you walk out that door right now and never return, I don't want the money back," he growled. "You landed at my door without even the clothes on your back because they were so torn up from us trying to get you out of your totaled car."

"Oh, I'm supposed to fall at your feet in gratitude?!"

What was visible of his face screwed up in disgust. "No."

"You can't stand it that someone is saying 'no' to you, to your money!" His job offer had to have an angle-she'd met and heard of his rich, secluded type before, and they always wanted sex.

His eye narrowed and lips pressed into a thin line. Even his breathing picked up a little. He seemed ready to explode.

"I never asked you for help!"

"And you wouldn't because you're so afraid of a man trying to control you!" he shouted, his chest heaving.

Trudy rolled down the window and looked over her shoulder with wide eyes. "Is everything alright back there?" She glanced between them.

"Yes!" They both snapped, still glaring at each other.

"OK then," she whispered and rolled up the window quick.

The car rolled to a stop in a drug store parking lot.

He whipped off his seatbelt and leaned across the seat, capturing her face in his hands. His lips stopped just a breath away, as if suddenly remembering he wore the mask that prevented a kiss. His eye locked on her mouth, his hot pants mingling with hers.

Her lips parted, and she tried to lean forward when he hesitated.

But he pulled his head back a bit, although his eye didn't leave her mouth. "You aren't indebted, and it's not to persuade you to do my 'bidding,'" he whispered huskily. "I wanted to help you get back on your feet." Then his eye searched hers. He sat back and rolled down the divider a few inches. "Home, please, Stevens." His voice sounded flat. Then he rolled the divider back up and leaned his elbow on the door to run his hand over his mask, seemingly weary. "I shouldn't have yelled at you. The helicopter can take you home or to your parents' when we return."

She blinked. Was he ending their relationship...whatever it was?

"I'll have the money removed from your hospital bill. It will likely be several thousand dollars out of pocket even after insurance." He looked at her, giving a second chance to take the money. "Or it can be a loan until you get a car."

That's right, she had to buy a car too. Despite the minor panic attack at the debt racking up while jobless, she shook her head. "I can take care of myself."

"I never questioned that," he replied gently.

She sighed. Something ached inside at the thought of losing him. Had it truly been a misunderstanding? She didn't want to let him go. "Thank you for your hospitality," she replied quietly, staring down at her hands to hide the hurt. Swallowing hard, she raised her eyes to his.

He looked startled. And then crestfallen. He stared straight ahead, as if lost in thought, and remained silent for a few moments. "I didn't think about it that it could be interpreted as buying you. I understand why you want to go."

She frowned. "I thought you wanted me to go."

His head turned to look at her. The car came to a halt.

She looked out the window to see if they were at his home, signaling their goodbye. Her mouth fell open.

His home was a mansion. It stood three stories tall, and beautiful white pillars adorned the front door. A beautiful wrap-around porch surrounded the light brick house. Before she had much time to admire it, though, Stevens opened the door and held out a hand and her crutches. She stood and glanced back to see Mr. Port remaining in the car. "Goodbye, Mr. Port," she said quietly with so much regret. He probably didn't want to be seen in the daylight. He didn't respond, so she swallowed that lump and started her laborous path to the house.

"Ms. Hoplin?" Stevens fell into step with her. "Mr. Port said to carry you up the front steps."

She tensed. "No! I mean, no, thank you." Another four steps, where the crutches rubbed the underside of her arms raw, and she was scooped up. "Stevens," she protested. Her crutches clattered to the ground.

"I promised no harm would come to you here," a voice deeper than Steven's said. "Stevens, the crutches, please." He started carrying her toward the house.

"Mr. Port, you never come out in daylight," Trudy gasped.

Mr. Port looked straight ahead and didn't reply. Not much more of him was revealed in daylight with his mask and parka than in the dark. His eyelashes were almost black, though. He must have black or dark brown hair. His eye glowed icicle blue, a bit paler than she'd expected.

"Thank you," she whispered to his profile.

He didn't say anything for a moment and kept walking. "I'd never want you to go," he said, his voice quiet and sad. "Would you think about the job offer again?" He looked slightly uncomfortable, as if unused to being rejected but humble enough to take it with grace.

"I will. Would it be possible to go home and pack before going to Nana's?"

He nodded. "How about you rest for a bit? I need some sleep before I fly."

"You're taking me?" She couldn't keep the surprise from her voice. Her heart beat a little faster thinking of being in a small cockpit with him for a few hours.

"Not Stevens. It doesn't seem wise to lock you in a helicopter with someone you're nervous around. At least you feel free to yell at me."

She opened her mouth to protest but saw the corner of his mouth curl up. An invisible weight lifted from her shoulders that he wouldn't hold her misgivings against her. "You're teasing!"

He chuckled, a deep, happy rumble in his chest.

"I shouldn't have overreacted," she said seriously and set a hand on his hard chest through his open parka as she looked up at him.

"Apology accepted." His gentle eye gazed down on her, sparkling with happiness, and his teeth glinted in a smile.

Her heart melted-he didn't seem to realize the sun had come out to shine down on him.


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note: Thanks for the PM, Singingsilent. Glad you're enjoying the story. :) **

* * *

Stevens opened the large front wooden door, and Mr. Port carried her in his arms up the front steps. It was like every girl's dream of living in a castle. And what lay inside stole her breath away.

The gleaming stone floor stretched across the expansive foyer. Rich wood architecture embraced elegant archways that led to several rooms on each side of the entryway. Roses and vines rose out of the woodwork over the doorways, climbing up to the cathedral ceiling where white crystal chandeliers caught the sunlight cascading through skylights. Antique decorations and lavish paintings of nature graced the walls, adding to the mystical beauty.

At the far end of the foyer, a grand stone staircase welcomed them home. The light stone brightened the room, bringing out the gleam of the wood walls. A mahogany carpet cloaked the stairs, guarded on each side by pedestals holding nearly life-size stone statues of exquitely beautiful Greek women draped in robes. The landing of the stairs split up to the left and right. Stone angels guarded the very top of the stairs as they approached.

"Too much?"

She startled, broken out of the magical spell. Her eyes shifted to him. He watched her, as if honestly desiring her approval. Why did it matter what she thought of his home when she'd only be here a few months? "It's beautiful." Antique knight armor caught her attention as he stepped onto the second floor. She looked at him in question.

"On occassion, I travel for business. If I find something that seems to be valuable at a backalley store, I purchase it and then sell it, usually to a museum. That armor I found in Spain."

"Are you selling it?"

"I expect the sale to close tomorrow." He continued walking down the hall, offerig his profile as he spoke.

Her brow furrowed. "May I ask how much it's worth?"

"$600,000," he said, as if he'd just said he had found a penny on the sidewalk.

Her jaw fell. It would take her more than a decade of working to make that much money. His assets must be worth several billion dollars. That must be why he kept his face hidden.

Then it dawned that even though the house was lit well enough to keep from running into walls, most of the windows' curtains were drawn. He seemed to keep in the darkest shadows and avoid direct sunlight. Was he allergic to light? An incredibly rare allergy, but it wasn't unheard of. But, he wore the mask even at night in the dark. It couldn't be a photosensitivity.

"Do you need anything?"

She looked around in confusion. They must've entered her room while she'd been staring at him.

He eased her onto the bed and stepped back into the dimmer side of the room.

Before she could respond, Trudy came huffing and puffing. "I can't do the stairs that fast." The woman dropped into a chair and mopped her brow.

Stevens stepped in and propped the crutches against the footboard. Then he turned and looked at Mr. Port, as if awaiting instructions.

She blushed when her gaze followed Steven's to see Mr. Port looking at her expectantly. "Oh! No, I'm alright, thank you."

"Make a list of things you'd like Stevens to retrieve from your apartment. There's nowhere to land the helicopter, so he'll fetch your things by car."

"But, I don't have my keys. Are the roads even clear enough?"

"Don't worry about that. Just give Ms. Van Hoodie your list." With a nod that almost appeared to be a slight bow, he headed out of the room. Stevens followed. He stopped for a moment and told Trudy, "Have those things packed for her and fetch me if needed. I'll depart in five hours, if she isn't sleeping."

"Yes, sir."

Then he disappeared. It was as if he'd taken all of the sunlight out of the room with him.

* * *

Her heart beat wildly as she waited in her parka-and boots that had magically appeared, along with a pair of jeans, sweaters, and undergarments in a massive walk-in closet next to her bathroom. Trudy had helped her pack them, along with a few of her own things Stevens had retrieved.

It had been impossible to nap knowing she'd be alone with Mr. Port in just a few hours. He was mysterious and intoxicating in a way that was so unfamiliar. He seemed to have a big heart, and his manner and language spoke of intelligence. What did he do with the money? Why was he so secretive? How had Stevens and Trudy come into his employment? The questions would have to wait. Trudy had evaded them, and experience said Mr. Port wouldn't be pleased to have these questions posed to him. Perhaps in time he would.

Heavy footsteps sounded, and she grabbed the crutches to stand. It would be rude to make him wait when he'd been so hospitable for so many days. And, it would do no good to get on her employer's bad side before even starting the job, if she accepted.

He entered, already wearing his parka but it wasn't zipped. The ski mask must be hot enough indoors. Trudy had darkened the room ten minutes previous, for some reason. "Are you ready, Ms. Hoplin?"

Even her formal name on his lips sent warm shivers up her spine.

"She's all packed, don'tcha know. Protested about takin' the clothes, like a billy goat on a hill, but I told her that you insisted," Trudy answered. She seemed anxious for them to go, for some reason.

He cleared his throat pointedly. "Ms. Hoplin can speak for herself."

Trudy looked sheepish. Bustling forward, Trudy gave her a hug. "You take care. I'll have your room as fresh as a newborn babe when you return, don'tcha know." Then she dabbed at her eyes and scurried out.

So Trudy did know about the job offer. She looked at him.

He pinched the bridge of his nose through his mask, as if exasperated. "You don't have to make a decision yet." Dropping his hand, he looked at her in the dim room. "Should you decide to return, this is Steven's number." He held out a piece of paper. "I'll be away on business for the next couple weeks. You're welcome to return as soon as you wish. The study downstairs will be ready with your work, and instructions will be written out."

She took it and frowned at him. "You're expecting a 'yes.'"

Taking a step closer so they were mere inches apart, he held her eyes. His voice dropped to an intimate level. "You want to say 'yes.'"

Butterflies fluttered in her stomach. She cocked an eyebrow. "I do, do I? You're confident, Mr. Port."

White teeth gleamed through the slit of the mask, and his eye crinkled in the outer corner. If she had a clear view of his face, it probably would have worn a smirk. "No, I know you, Ms. Hoplin." His finger slowly traced her rapid pulse down her neck.

Her heart skipped a beat, and every nerve zeroed in on his perfect touch. Something low in her belly began to ache.

"Your heart beats abnormally fast when I'm around," he said, his voice husky.

She frowned and opened her mouth to protest. But his hand glided down her arm and captured her hand away from where she gripped the crutch.

He set her hand over his heart and held it there.

The words froze on her lips. His heart pounded as rapidly as hers through his sweater, and his heat burned her hand. She met his eye, her heart thundering even faster. The aching flowed down and melted into a gentle throbbing between her thighs. She wanted to step into his arms, wanted to feel his lips against hers as she fell into his gaze...

What was she doing? There was nothing special about her that would capture a billionaire's attention for more than a fleeting few days. She swallowed hard and pulled her hand away, jerking herself out of his spell. Squaring her shoulders, she said, "You would not comment on Ms. Van Hoodie's pulse as your employee, Mr. Port. I expect the same treatment, should I accept your offer. We should be going." Then she proceeded to hobble toward the door on her crutches.

He remained silent for a moment. "My apologies, Ms. Hoplin." A hint of amusement lightened his voice. Then he fell into step beside her, carrying the small suitcase. "Am I allowed to offer to carry you?"

She didn't stop or look at him, even though her underarms begged for relief from the chaffing. She didn't trust herself with him at the moment. "I'm perfectly capable."

"And perfectly in pain." He caught a crutch, slowing her to a halt. "It isn't a race to get out of here. I'll behave." Then he took the crutch and disappeared down the hall. He returned a moment later with a styrofoam sheet wrapped around as cushioning at the top of the crutch. He handed it back to her.

It cushioned like a cloud compared to before. "Thank you." She relinquished the other crutch.

He traded her his cell phone. "Call your parents and have someone come to pick you up. I have permission to land at an airport near O'Hare." He gave her the time and location they'd arrive in Chicago.

* * *

It felt like a dream. The scenery was beautiful, from the mountains to farmland as they crossed the country. The two of them didn't speak much, mostly because of the noise and he had to be in frequent contact with the various air towers, but he pointed sights out here and there. It was the most companionable silence she'd ever experienced, and she didn't want it to end yet.

They approached the City of Chicago skyline at dusk.

"Can I take a picture?"

He pulled his cell out of his pocket and handed it to her.

She snapped a photo of the skyline that glowed as it came to life with the lights of the city. With a smile, she handed it back to him. "Can you fly back in the dark?"

"It's best to avoid flying a helicopter after dark. I'm staying at a hotel for the night."

"Do you want to stay...?" Her words faded away. Him staying with the family would raise a thousand questions about the ski mask.

"Thank you, but the hotel is probably best." Then he contacted the tower for landing clearance as the runway came into view. "Would you grab the helmet behind me?"

She spotted a helicopter helmet with a sunvisor tucked behind his seat. He wanted it to hide the mask. It would be too dark to wear it for landing, so she held it in her lap until he was ready.

Her parents waited on the side of the runway, along with airport staff. They landed, and he put on the helmet. She had to figure out how to keep her parents from meeting him and making it suspicious that he wore a helmet.

As fast as she could, she unbuckled as the airport staff came to open the chopper door. She reached to take off the headset, but a warm hand stopped her. She looked at him.

"Think about the job offer, Ms. Hoplin," he said through the mic as the blades wound down.

She nodded. "I will." The door opened, and she slipped out as quickly as possible on her crutches.

Her parents embraced her. "Oh, your face," Mom sniffled, crying tears of relief that her baby hadn't died in the accident.

"I should thank this Jason Port," her dad said.

But before she had to think up an excuse, she glanced behind her to see the helicopter empty. "I'm really sore. I'm sure he'll understand if we go."

"Of course, baby," Mom said and helped her to the car.

She sat in the backseat of the car, not hearing a word her parents said as they drove away. Her eyes scanned the terminal and landed on a lone figure in the shadows near a shed. Something tugged at her heart. She raised her hand in case he could see her, but he didn't move. Twisting in her seat, she watched him until he faded out of sight. Then she faced forward and stared at the floor. He'd wanted to come; she could feel it. But the mask kept him prisoner. Such a lonely life he led. No one who seemed as kind as him would chose to live so isolated. Something else forced him into the darkness, something not related to money or allergies. If only he would tell her.


	9. Chapter 9

There were dozens of questions about her mysterious rescuer from the relatives that Friday night until she left with her parents on Sunday. Thankfully, the fading bruising discolored her face enough to help hide blushing when one of the cousins asked if he was sexy.

On Monday, the doorbell rang. A few minutes later, her mom walked into the living room with a vase of rainbow daisies and a Get Well Soon balloon. "This is nice. I wonder who sent it." She set down the vase and handed over a card in an envelope.

Her face flamed. It wasn't an overly elaborate bouquet, but one guess as to who had sent it. "Thanks, Mom. Probably one of the relatives or something." She opened the card. Her mom didn't look like she'd be leaving her alone anytime soon. Great. Time to explain this.

_So busy with blizzard, didn't think to bring you get well wishes at hospital._

_JP_

Pushing aside the warm feelings at getting flowers from him, she'd wring his neck for cornering her like this with her parents. It was probably a ploy to remind her about the job. As if she could stop agonizing over whether to take it or not. "Just from the man who found me in the accident." She shrugged and handed over the card to show it wasn't a romantic note or anything. Part of her was disappointed it wasn't, which only irritated her more.

"He has elegant handwriting."

"Everything about him is elegant," she mumbled.

"Hm? What was that?" Her mom handed over the note.

"Nothing. Um, being I'm unemployed, he offered me a three-month position to look over his business books. He suspects embezeling." She glanced to see how her mom took the news.

"That's nice of him. But does he know it's not your degree?" She sat on the edge of the couch.

She mentally sighed. Could she omit living at his home? "Yes. I explained, and apparently my background impressed him. I don't know if I want to get involved if it could go to court, though."

"You did plenty of cases at your previous job." Her mom frowned in confusion.

Honestly, she half wanted an excuse from someone as to why she shouldn't return, because she wanted to return too much. Luckily the conversation cut short when Nana called.

The next week passed quickly at her parents' house, and Christmas came and went. She got rid of the crutches and moved into a walking cast, thankfully. And Mr. Port only crossed her mind a dozen times a day.

The phone rang one afternoon a few days before New Years. Her dad got to the phone. "Emma, it's a lady asking for you."

"Thanks." She took the phone. "Hello?"

"Hello, there! It's Trudy."

She slipped into her childhood bedroom and shut the door. "Trudy? Is everything alright?" Surely Trudy wouldn't sound so happy if something had happened to Mr. Port.

"Fish on a hook, yes. Mr. Port is away on business, but he asked me to check in if you've decided about the job. I hope you want it, don'tcha know. Oh, heavens to bits, I shouldn't say that. He said not to talk you into it. Even if you don't, I'll send you my recipe for tapioca. And nobody has my recipe, don'tcha know. It'd be a hootin' day in July before I'd give it to anyone else."

She smiled. "Thank you, Trudy. I do love your tapioca, and I'd guard your recipe with my life." Her smile faded. "Would you mind passing along this message to Mr. Port?"

"Okie dokie. Here, I've got a pen ready."

"Would you tell him that instead of having someone else make employment calls for him, he can pick up the phone. And I didn't appreciate him sending the flowers and putting me on the spot with my parents. If he wants me to come work there in his home and live 'in sin,' as my parents would see it, he can call them and explain it to them himself. Thank you, Trudy."

"Oh dear. Are ya sure I should tell him all of that? Maybe I should leave out the 'in sin'? That term won't sit well with him."

"No, you can feel free to relay the entire message. Frankly, I don't care if it sits well with him. Call me if he blames you for any of it, though." Dang, she sounded surely. Well, she felt like it because of him.

"Sweet Jesus..."

She could envision Trudy making the sign of the cross.

"He'll be mighty upset you're so angry, but I'll tell him. Should I say it all mad like you did?"

Smothering a laugh, she tried not to laugh at Trudy's sweet heart. "Say it however you feel comfortable. He'll get the jist. Thank you, Trudy. Maybe on one of your weekends you can come over to my apartment."

"Oh, that's as sweet as a lamb. I'd like that, don'tcha know. I'll teach ya how to make tapioca."

"Sounds like a deal. I have your cell number. I'll call you in a couple weeks."

"Righty'o. Take care of yourself. Bye bye, now."

"You too. Bye." She hung up, a thousand pounds lifted off her chest. Then she went back into the kitchen, with a lighter spring in her step.

About thirty minutes later, the phone rang.

"Who is calling during dinner?" Her mom frowned from the table.

"Probably a telemarketer. I'll kick them off." Her dad got up and answered. "Hello? Oh, hello, Mr. Port...Alright, Jason." He smiled at her mom and wandered into the living room.

She felt faint. Seriously? He was going to explain to her parents why her living in a strange man's house was a good idea?

Her mom jumped up. "Oh! I'll grab the extension in the bedroom and thank him!"

She sat at an empty table and stared, with her jaw on the floor. Dropping her head onto the table, she waited for her parents to start hyperventilating.

Her parents came out minutes later, all grins. "Such a nice young man. He invited us to come out there and see his house next week. He has some unused plane tickets that are going to expire soon. Said we can use them to come see you whenever we like. It sounds like an amazing job." Her mom sat at the table.

Her dad sat too. "He said the housekeeper and driver will be there at all times, if we're worried about chaperones. Some incredibly impressive personal references for us to call, if we want too. One is-"

"I don't really care who, Dad." She rested her head in her hands on the table.

"Aren't you excited? It's a large salary, and a really honorable business he has there too. Why didn't you tell us about it?" Her mom looked at her quizzically.

"I don't know," she sighed. "I thought maybe I shouldn't being he's kinda a stranger and everything." She had no idea what the business was, but she wasn't about to admit her parents knew more about it because then they'd ask why she didn't ask him. Frankly, she didn't want to know any more. "I have to make a call."

She grabbed the phone and hobbled into the bedroom. Dialing the number on caller ID, she jammed her finger into the Call button.

"Hello. Jason Paxton." He said it so politely she wanted to throw the phone.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Silence for a moment. "I expected your parents. Hello to you too." He sounded more annoyed. "Trudy gave me your message. I did what you asked. Are you one of those women who says one thing but means another?" He sounded truly perplexed.

"I said it to get my point across! I didn't want you to actually call them! You're so, so, so...ugh! I don't know what I'm trying to say!"

He sighed into the phone. "This is your decision, not anyone else's. I gave references and numbers to your parents. You can call them yourself. The business is-"

"I don't really care what business it is-"

Another long-winded sigh. "What is it you're worried about?" Now he sounded truly concerned.

What was she worried about?

"I'll have a locksmith come install a deadbolt on your bedroom door the day you get here. You can have the sole key. I promise you're safe here."

The gentleness in his voice made tears well in her eyes. She sank onto the bed, the fight draining away. She sniffled.

"Emma?"

She couldn't stop the tears for some reason.

"Forget about the job. I didn't mean to make you this upset. You're free to come visit Ms. Van Hoodie whenever you wish without interference from me. She mentioned your offer to visit a weekend, and she's so excited."

"No, I just...I've avoided men like the plague for the past two years..."

"And you're scared of living under the same roof as Stevens and I, who are practically strangers. Perhaps you'd feel more comfortable with lodging in the town at the bottom of the mountain. Some days the roads won't be passable for Stevens, but he can bring you up on the days it is. If you can start after New Years, I'll be gone that week on business. You can see how the week goes and if you want to continue after I return. We can take it day by day." He sounded upset that he couldn't offer more.

"Thank you. I'm sorry..." She brushed at her eyes.

"It's not anything to be sorry about. But, Emma? I don't believe that an almost attack from your ex would leave you this scared. If he's still a threat, everyone in the house needs to know to keep you safe."

She hesitated. "He has three years left on his jail sentence."

He was silent, probably thinking about the four-inch scar on her upper thigh he must've seen when undressing her from the accident. When she didn't offer anything more, he said, "Alright. Call me when you're ready, and Stevens or I will pick you up at the airport."

She didn't feel as safe with Stevens, not to say he was a bad man. Something about Mr. Port just seemed more comforting. "Mr. Port?" God, her voice sounded small to her own ears. She hated feeling powerless.

"Jason."

"You don't speak with Mr. Stevens or Trudy so informally."

"Alright. Yes, Ms. Hoplin?"

How could the warmth of his voice be as comforting as a hug? "Would you be available?" Then she remembered. "Oh, nevermind. I forgot you said you're gone-"

"I'll be there," he said in a heartbeat. "Should we make it Monday, January 3? Nine thirty?"

"Thank you. And for the flowers. And I'm sorry I was short with you." Now she felt sheepish after they'd worked out the misunderstanding.

He chuckled. "Not at all. You're right that I put you on the spot and shouldn't have had Ms. Van Hoodie call in my stead. My apologies. You aren't afraid to call me on it."

That was a quick way to get herself fired with th boss. She opened her mouth to apologize.

"I like that about you. See you in a week. Happy New Years."

Butterflies flitted in her stomach. "Happy New Years."

She hung up and slowly set down the phone. How could she tell him that it wasn't so much about being afraid of him, but afraid he'd break her heart? Because she was falling in love with him. A man whose face she'd never seen.


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews, Lottscholargmail and Hayden Avery. It helps getting feedback from readers to see what people like for when I'm writing the next chapter.**

* * *

A couple days later, the doorbell rang. She opened the door to see an overnight delivery package.

"Ms. Emma Hoplin?" the deliveryman asked.

"Yes."

"Sign here, please." He handed over a clipboard for the certified mail.

Skimming the return address, she recognized Mr. Port's handwriting. She signed for the package, utterly intrigued. "Thank you." Then she shut the door and opened the box. Although greasy and dirty, inside lay her purse and most of the contents. On top, written on thick, high-stock paper, rested a handwritten note.

_When the tow truck was hooking up, this fell out of what we think used to be the hood of your car. We couldn't find anything else from your purse in the snow, but the mountain decided to wear your clothes. The articles we could reach were damaged, and the suitcase wasn't in one piece. I threw those out but held a respectful eulogy._

She laughed at his sense of humor.

_Probably best to get new bank cards, but odds are no one climbed into the engine compartment to steal them and then had the manners (or scheming, depending how you look at it) to return them. Your cell battery is either dead, or the phone has passed on to the next life too; hopefully the former._

_Hope this helps._

_JP_

A quick charge and the phone started up. It beeped with a text message alert. She tapped the screen to see the message had been sent yesterday morning.

_It works! :) JP_

A laugh burst out of her. He was not one she'd pictured for using emoticons. She texted back.

_Yes, it does. Thanks :)_

She half hoped for a live response, but wasn't surprised when it didn't come.

* * *

On New Year's Eve, she sighed. She sat in the loveseat with her leg propped up and watched the ball drop at midnight while her dad snored in the recliner and her mom slept on the sofa.

Thirty had seemed so old fifteen years ago. Here she sat in her last month her twenties, laid up like an old woman with no one to celebrate New Year's and no kids of her own even running around blowing New Year's whistles. Everyone on TV kissed their special someone as Aud Lang Syne played in the background. What would it be like to kiss Mr. Port? No, that wasn't an appropriate road to wander down, even in fantasyland. Nix. Even worse having a fantasyland with him in it.

Her cell chirped. She couldn't help but smile to see the phone number.

_Happy New Year. Hope you're doing something fun. JP_

She texted, _Happy New Year. Ankle hurting today, so laid up in living room, and parents fell asleep on me. Hope yours is good._

She clicked off her phone and debated working up the energy to hobble to bed. Her phone chirped again.

_Hotel room in NY near Times Square. Too noisy to sleep; didn't think about holiday when booked it. And kinda pathetic too old to get up energy to go out._

She frowned. Or maybe too much of a spectacle to go out. Did he wear the mask around others? He must, because Trudy had seemed shocked to see him out in daylight. The car windows had been tinted too like he didn't want anyone to see inside.

_If you could go out, where would you go?_ She waited but a moment for a reply.

_You're a quick one; I see you used 'could.' Depending on the company, I'd be content to lounge in the hotel room, warm under the blankets, but I'd get a room facing the fireworks. You? Anywhere in the world._

Tapping a finger on her chin, she mulled that question over. _I've never been comfortable being out in crowds. Kinda a homebody. I don't mind getting cozy at home and watching everyone else freeze on TV while I have a frontrow seat._

He returned a text. _Good point. :) You seem quiet like that. I should let you get to sleep. Feel better. See another doctor if it's still hurting tomorrow. This is far out from accident to be bothering you worse. _

_In a walking boot now, so I think it's the forced angle that makes it hurt. Goodnight._

_Get a second opinion. Goodnight._

She wanted to call and hear him, but it'd be inappropriate and far too personal. Even this texting conversation probably wasn't within professional etiquette guidelines. But she fell asleep easily that night.

* * *

The chopper blades were whirling when they pulled up ten minutes early on Monday. Her fears of him not being able to fly in the sudden artic blast blowing through faded. She got out of the passenger seat, back on crutches but ordered to bear slight weight on the ankle. Her mom came around with a suitcase.

Surprisingly, Mr. Port hopped out of the chopper, wearing the helmet and ski mask. The helmet didn't cover from his lips down. Given the temperature, though, the ski mask didn't seem out of the ordinary. As they approached, she noticed he'd positioned the headset mouthpiece to cover the right side of the mask that was sewn shut. He wore full snowgear and stepped forward to take the suitcase from her mom. Extending a gloved hand, he shook her mom's gloved one.

"Jason Paxton. Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Hoplin," he said over the whirl of the blades.

"Becky. My husband had to go to work, but he's looking forward to meeting you," she shouted.

"My apologies. With the temperature, I had to leave the engine running. We'll have to stop in an hour and de-ice, but it's safe. If I have any questions, we're going to land and wait out the weather."

Her mother nodded and gave her a hug. "Call when you get there."

She nodded and turned to head to the chopper.

He must have put her suitcase in the chopper because he was walking back empty handed. He signaled for her to hold the crutches in one hand. She did, and he scooped her up. Then he set her in the passenger side and handed her the headset. He shut the door and walked around. When he got inside, he said over the mic, "Did you bring snowpants?"

She nodded.

"It's so cold the heater can't keep up. You'll need everything on." He pulled her suitcase to the front and got out her snowpants and scarf.

She put them on quick, and he helped her loosen the seatbelt with the added bulk. She waved to her mom. Then they were off.

The ride was a little bumpier than the way there a couple weeks ago. His attention seemed focused entirely on flying through the random gusts of wind. It was hard to think about much besides the slight jerking of the chopper.

Fourty-five minutes into the flight he radioed, "This is Charlotte Five. We're losing fuel suddenly. We're just outside of Ottumwa, Iowa. Proceeding with emergency landing."

She blinked. Had he just said emergency landing? He sounded so calm. Surely she didn't hear that right.

"Charlotte Five, advise fuel reading. There is an airport-"

An alarm went off in the cockpit. Her heart shot into her throat.

"Negative. We're in autorotation now." Mr. Port's grip on the joystick tightened. "Emergency landing on a highway. I believe it's Highway 63. No visible traffic."

"What's autorotation?" she asked.

"Our engine died."

"What?!"

"It's fine. It's not like a plane losing an engine." He shrugged.

Either he shrugged to not cause panic or because it really didn't matter that much. No engine mid-flight sounded like a hell of a good reason to panic.

"Negative, Charlotte Five. Land in a field. Repeat, request to land on highway is denied."

"Negative. No clear visibility of power lines or snow drift depths. Approaching autorotation at fifteen hundred feet," he replied.

"Do not land on the highway, Charlotte Five. Repeat, do not land on highway. Land in a field."

Arguing in the middle of emergency landing didn't help her nerves. Someone seriously didn't know what they were doing, and she prayed it wasn't Mr. Port.

He shook his head and ignored the radio. "We're landing on an active highway, so get ready to bail before a car plows into us." Then he nodded to the right. "That's why I didn't want to blindly aim for a field."

Gripping the seat for dear life, she glaced to the right. A massive steel, high-voltage power line materialized out of the snow in the middle of the field they probably would have landed in. Then her eyes darted back to their descent, with a little more confidence in his flying skills.

The ground quickly approached, and she braced for massive impact. It seemed to take forever waiting to crash. They angled tail down, her heart racing. Then he smoothly leveled them out and landed like a feather on a pillow.

The instant they were down, he whipped off her belts and then his own. Without any time to react, he lifted her across the seat. He trudged through knee-deep snow and set her down well away from the highway. Then he ran back up to the road and stood on the shoulder, flagging cars away. He made a final call to the tower over the headset. "This is Charlotte Five. We need a truck dispatched because you have a chopper in the middle of Highway 63. Check your coordinates-your field has high-voltage power lines. Requesting police services to help redirect traffic." He sounded like he was doing nothing more exciting than ordering coffee.

She sat in the cornfield, still shaking from the adrenaline rush.

About ten minutes later, police arrived and directed traffic. He walked over and knelt down, his helmet still on. "Are you warm enough?"

Too shaken to really respond, she absently nodded.

Pulling off a glove, he then pulled off one of hers and held her hand by the wrist. It still shook. Then he put their gloves back on. "It's not as dangerous as a plane's engine failing. I had to emergency land once with Ms. Van Hoodie, and that's when her phobia started. We'll see if it's a simple fix, and then we're going back up."

Her eyes bugged.

"The longer you wait, the bigger the fear. I won't take you up if it's not safe."

A fuel line had leaked. Two hours later, they were back in the air. She squeezed her eyes shut in fervent prayer, just like Trudy. The winds must have died down, because the chopper didn't threaten to blow around like a leaf in the wind.

"Look," he said over the headset a couple minutes after takeoff.

She opened her eyes to see him pointing to the right. A herd of deer frolicked across a field not too far below. A smile escaped her, and she turned her head to look at him.

He must've removed the helmet right after takeoff because a blue eye studied her from the ski mask. She flushed under the intense look and looked out the window.

"Your eyes look bigger without the bruising masking your features." Even over the mic and whirl of the blades, his voice sounded intimate.

Keeping her head turned to the right away from him, she replied, "I know. Not an attractive feature." She shouldn't have put on makeup-it probably accentuated her features. Memories of being teased in school for having eyes and lips too big came swimming up.

"The complete opposite."

Without intending to, her head whipped around to see him looking directly at her. Ducking her head in embarrassment, she bit her lip and resumed looking out the window. Heat radiated from low in her belly and curled out through her limbs. Her heart beat a little faster. Then the aching between her thighs started. She closed her eyes, basking in this magic he had over her.

His hand brushed her thigh, and her eyes shot open.

He wrapped her hand around the joystick between her legs and let go of his. "Keep it steady." Then he sat back. "You're flying."

Oh, her body certainly did want to fly. She glanced at him, her mind preoccupied with other things. Like wondering if his lips felt as soft as they looked, or what kind of spell hid in his long fingers.

Perfectly white teeth glinted in a smile.

A gust of wind tilted them. Her heart shuddered, and she overcorrected, making them lurch the other direction. He leaned over and his gloved hand rested over hers, sure and strong as he eased them level again. His head lingered just a few inches away. The scent of a sweet but woody cologne wafted up, the most sexy aroma she'd ever smelled. Odd that no scent had ever smelled sexy before.

The full snowgear accentuated his large shoulders. Suddenly, she wanted nothing more than to rip off his shirt and see if his bare muscles felt as hard as they did through his shirts.

"Just take it easy."

She jumped. Had she said it out loud? Her heart thundered, utterly mortified.

Then he sat back and smiled.

Oh. He meant the joystick. She blew out a breath of relief and looked straight ahead. "Did you get a new cologne?" She winced. Not what she'd meant to say.

"No. Your nose was so swollen you probably couldn't smell well." He leaned over again and pulled the joystick back a little toward her thighs. "We can't go too high or low. Just keep it steady."

An inaudible gasp escaped her. She couldn't look away from his hand so close to where her body hummed for his touch. He'd be heartbreakingly gentle with a woman. "Maybe you should fly," she squeaked. He took his own controls again, and she sagged against the seat in relief. No man had ever driven her crazy like this. It was going to be a long three months.


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note: Glad to hear it, Singingsilent! I love to hear when readers say they're addicted and checking for updates. It means my efforts of making the characters come to life are working. :)**

* * *

They arrived on the helipad in the mid-afternoon. They'd ridden in companionable silence again, and she'd had ample time to study him, being his blind side faced her. And it clearly was a blind side, not material that he could see through. He often turned his head left and right, likely to increase his field of vision. When they were landing, he shifted his head back and forth slightly. Perhaps it helped give depth perception he probably didn't have with one-eyed vision.

When they landed, he glanced at her.

"I'm sorry, you probably lost a whole day of planned work because of this." She unbuckled herself. The swoosh of the chopper blades died down.

"Nonsense."

Stevens opened her door before she could get another word in. "Welcome, Ms. Hoplin." He extended a hand and stood beside the door like a proper driver/butler, as always.

"Hi, Stevens. Thank you." She took his hand and balanced most of her weight on her good foot while Stevens got her suitcase and crutches out. The weather was warmer here, and she tugged down the scarf from her face and pocketed her hat. She ran a hand through her locks to get rid of the hat hair. Glancing into the chopper, she caught Mr. Port staring. Then he suddenly looked hesitant to come out from the somewhat UV-tinted chopper and into the daylight.

"Do you need help going inside?" he asked.

"No, I'm alright." It would be cruel to make him come into the light and be self-conscious in his own home. She took the crutches from Stevens. "Thank you for fetching me, Mr. Port." Her eyes locked with his.

"Not at all, Ms. Hoplin." His voice sounded flat, and he gave a single nod.

Her heart fell. An invisible door slammed shut in her face. The companionship vanished. And she couldn't fathom why. Maybe he was upset it had taken so long to get her.

"Lunch has been awaiting your arrival," Stevens told her.

With a smile, she looked at Mr. Port. Perhaps he was simply hungry. "Are you hungry? I-"

"I eat alone," he snapped, cutting her off.

She blinked. He seemed angry with her. Her brow furrowed as she searched his face for why, but he looked away.

"Stevens, see her either settled in a room or at an inn in town," he said in dismissal. He turned to get out the other side.

Her chest hurt. "Mr. Port? Did I say something?"

He stilled with his back to her, one hand on his seat and the other holding the doorframe as he was about to heave himself out of the chopper. Those strong shoulders slumped, suddenly too weary to carry his invisible burdens, and his head drooped. He was the perfect image of a broken man.

Tears stung her eyes seeing such a kind, strong man brought to his knees like this. She hurried around the chopper, but he didn't move.

He spoke softly when she neared his door. "Please, go inside."

She jerked to a halt, the fact that he begged was as powerful as if he had screamed at her. Pain radiated off him. She reached a gloved hand out to touch his arm.

"Please," he whispered, still not lifting his head. Pain radiated off him.

Her hand stopped mid-reach and slowly fell to her side. Then she turned and went inside. Stevens helped her down the stairs, and then she stopped at the bottom. Shadows lurked here.

Stevens turned expectantly. "The locksmith is finishing your door. Would you like lodgings here, Ms. Hoplin?"

She looked back up the dark stairwell toward the helipad. She couldn't leave him like this. "Yes, please."

"This way then," he urged.

Tearing her eyes back to him, she shook her head. "I know my way from here. Please don't wait for me."

He didn't say anything for a moment, but the formality dissipated from his voice. In its stead came compassion. "It's best to let him be, Ms. Hoplin."

"Sometimes what's best is harder to face."

He didn't seem to agree, but he continued to her room with her suitcase.

Several minutes passed. A flush crept up her body from being overdressed, so she removed the snowgear. Another couple minutes and then Mr. Port's footsteps echoed down the narrow stairwell. "Are you lost, Ms. Hoplin?" He sounded like himself again and stopped a little more than an arm's length away, still wearing his snowgear.

Setting aside her crutches to lean against the wall, she held out a hand.

"Do you need to be carried?" He sounded a bit confused and stepped closer to scoop her up.

She wrapped her arms around his chest in a hug when he reached for her.

He froze and instantly stiffened, as if unused to being touched.

Keeping her head turned to the side to give him privacy, she held on tight and listened to his heart thundering madly in panic under her cheek. "I don't understand why you're sad."

"What are you doing?" He sounded almost frightened.

Her heart twisted. "Giving you a hug. It's about time someone did. I won't look at your face. Trust me."

He slowly relaxed. After another few seconds, his arms curled around her and held tight, as if soaking up strength from it. He cupped the back of her head to cradle her close, and sorrow and suffering rose up from him in waves. "Emma," he whispered and rested his cheek atop her head.

Questions would only make him push her away, so she simply held him.

"Ms. Hoplin?!" Trudy's voice rang down the hall.

She sighed. Now was impeccably bad timing.

His grasp loosened until his arms fell to his sides. Clearing his throat, he said, "Thank you. I'll leave you in Ms. Van Hoodie's capable hands."

Her eyes followed him walk down a hall in the opposite direction of her bedroom. He carried himself tall and sure again, but his shoulders still bowed ever so slightly with the weight of the world.

Trudy came bustling down the other hall, a smile threatening to split her face. "Oh! Your face is as lovely as a cotton quilt in a July blizzard! No more bruises!" Trudy assaulted her in a fierce hug. "Three months you're here. I prayed to Jesus that you'd stay, don'tcha know." Then she helped her hobble down the hall. "Your room is as fresh as a button, and Mr. Port had more of your clothes fetched from your apartment. He said to tell you that Stevens is at your disposal if you need to go anywhere. Did you have a good Christmas and New Years? I went and saw my sister, with Mr. Port gone on business and all anyways." She waved her hand.

Trudy didn't pause for answers, which suited her just fine right now. It was a good time for Trudy's jovial mood to sweep in anyway.

They entered the bedroom. It gleamed, with every crevice of wood practically sparkling. Two large bouquets of various flowers in large vases on each end of the mantle wafted their lovely perfume through the room. "Fresh flowers?"

Trudy smiled. "Mr. Port spoils me, and I convinced him to bring some for you. I like flowers, but they're hard to come by in these parts, especially when the snow blows your knickers off. He comes home with a fresh bouquet for me once a month and a box of German chocolates for Stevens," she giggled.

She cocked an eyebrow. "Stevens has a sweet tooth?"

The woman whispered behind a hand, "Don'tcha know. He bakes cookies every day when Mr. Port is away on business. I have to tell Mr. Port I made them because Stevens would smack a hootin' fish to be caught baking."

She blinked. That must mean he wouldn't be caught dead in the kitchen. Stevens did seem like the macho bodyguard type.

Trudy puttered over to the nightstand and carried over a bouquet of nearly two dozen pink, gorgeous roses. "Mr. Port has a penchant for roses. He selected these himself for ya. But don't tell him I told you-he said it's not proper to tell you he hand picked them. It's as sweet as a kitten's foot, I say. When I asked why pink, he said it means gratitude." She frowned and looked confused.

"They're beautiful." She fingered a large petal as soft as the finest velvet. "I've never seen anything like it." Kind of odd to receive roses out of gratitude for taking a job, though.

Trudy beamed and set them back on the nightstand.

She called her mom quick to say she'd arrived, and she had a quiet evening with Trudy chattering away while Stevens and Mr. Port had departed for business for the evening.

* * *

A grandfather clock somewhere downstairs struck quarter to eleven. She maneuvered in the shadows down the stairs on crutches for a drink of water, trying to get used to the noises of the house at night. The moonlight from the skylights cast a soft glow. Maybe warm milk would help her sleep. At the foot of the stairs, she heard Trudy's voice from a room to the left.

"She adored the roses, dont'cha know. Almost didn't recognize her without the black eyes," she laughed.

With whom was Trudy talking about her? An itch of guilt crept up at eavesdropping.

"She's very pretty."

"This is not an appropriate conversation," a deep voice said.

She frowned. When had Mr. Port returned?

"You don't think she is? Golly gee me, I do."

"Of course I do." He sounded exhausted.

"But...?"

He heaved a great sigh. "She's incredibly beautiful, but a beast and a rose do not match. I'd appreciate an end to your nonsense." Those last words were spat out.

"A rose does not have eyes and cannot see the beast that others see. A rose only sees the heart." Trudy's voice fell to a gentle, motherly tone.

Her gut said Trudy had just said something profound, but it made no sense without knowing what they were talking about.

"That's enough," he growled.

"Goodnight, Mr. Port." Trudy flounced out of the room with a coy smile and went the other direction, apparently not seeing her.

Something was bothering him today, and she'd just toss and turn in bed without trying to help him. So, she went into the room. It was a large study, as grand as the rest of the house. He sat at a large wooden desk with a desk light serving as the only light source. A blur of skin was all she witnessed as he shot up and darted into the shadows with a curse. His mask lay on the desk. Next to a half eaten sandwich. She froze, as shocked as him.

"Do not ever enter a room unannounced," he ordered. He blended in completely with the darkness.

"I'm sorry." She backed up on her crutches a step and hurried to the stairs. Biting her lip, she battled down the tears. It had been an accident, but the guilt of making him afraid of letting his guard down in his own home, the shame of being scolded like a child, and the hurt that he let Trudy see whatever it was he hid, all wrapped up in a tear rolling down her cheek.

A rapid, heavy tread echoed on the stone floor when she reached the stairs. She grabbed the railing to pull herself up a step, and his warm hand grabbed her wrist. "Don't," she said quietly and jerked her hand away. She didn't run but didn't turn to face him either.

He didn't touch her and remained silent for several seconds. "I have few rules, but I expect them to be obeyed." He sounded patient.

"Then perhaps someone should tell me what they are," she replied, her voice just as calm even though her heart broke. "Goodnight, Mr. Port." She set her hand on the railing to go upstairs.

"Why won't you look at me?"

She swallowed hard. She was no one special to him, clearly less trusted than his other employees in the house. A charity case is what she came down to. How stupid to have believed herself to be starting to fall in love. "I do not expect to be a confidant, but I do not expect to be lied to." She started to lean some weight on the railing to take a step up.

He stepped around her, half blocking her path. "What lie?"

Bowing her head slightly so he wouldn't see the tear she was too proud to wipe away, she said, "You don't eat alone or require all entrances being announced. Trudy made your mask after I showed up. Rules are made for me to follow." With the hall likely too dark for him to see the tear anyways, she glared at him wearing the mask again.

The pad of his thumb swept away her tear. "The rules are in your best interest. Even Ms. Van Hoodie agrees." His voice rang soft and full of compassion. "It wasn't my intent to come across as lying. I do not sit down for meals with anyone. Ms. Van Hoodie came in half an hour ago and interrupted my dinner. I will not lie to you, but there are things I won't discuss."

"You're not obligated to tell me anything besides what I need to do my job. Excuse me."

He leaned a hand on the railing to block her. "You're angry with me." He sounded a bit perplexed.

"I don't know you well enough to be angry." She threw him a look, irritated that he wouldn't move.

A choked laugh escaped him. "I seem to recall some shouting in the car a few weeks ago."

"And what, I'm prisoner on the stairs otherwise? I don't take well to bullying." She turned and hobbled two steps toward the kitchen when he fell into step beside her.

"I'm not trying to bully you. If you aren't honest with me, it's going to be hard for us to work together." He sounded so calm.

His calmness only hurt more that he was so unmoved when she was so upset. She stopped and so did he. With everything he'd done for her and their personal texting conversation, it had seemed like they were becoming friends. She opened her mouth but hesitated. It hurt that he trusted her so little. No, that was not a professional response.

"Emma," he said softly and gently hooked a finger under her chin to meet her eyes.

Jerking her head out of his grasp, she exploded. "What do you want?"

He dropped his hand, his eye wide with surprise in the moonlight.

"You do all of these things for me, you text on New Years like we're friends, you touch me but you don't touch Trudy, you have damn rules that apply only to me...make up your mind!"

His eye slide away. "Perhaps it's better for you to lodge in town." His voice sounded flat.

A tear rolled down her cheek at that barb. She stared. He'd take back his words. He wouldn't throw her out like this. But his eye remained diverted in dismissal. Tears welled and blurred her vision. "Goodnight, sir," she whispered and started the laborous journey up the stairs. She sniffled when she reached the top, the tears coming faster. The sound echoed softly down the stairs to the foyer. She glanced to the right downstairs.

He still hadn't moved but watched her. He stood framed in a small patch of moonlight, surrounded by his eternal shadows.


	12. Chapter 12

She zipped her suitcase shut on the bed when Trudy stormed in the next morning.

"What in a hootin' Tuesday is goin' on? Stevens said you're staying in the village, don'tcha know." The woman folded her arms and scowled.

Rubbing her slightly puffy eyes from not enough sleep and too many tears, she pulled herself to her feeting using the crutches. "I go at five o'clock after work." The exhaustion and heartache made it too much work to put any feeling into her words.

"This is his doing, don'tcha know." Trudy threw up her arms. "I knew it like my granny is dead that he'd do this."

"Trudy, please, just let it be," she sighed. The clock struck eight. "I have to start work." She didn't want to see him again. An office a thousand miles from here sounded far better than having to face him.

Trudy didn't reply.

She went downstairs to find Stevens lingering in the foyer.

"Good morning, Ms. Hoplin. Mr. Port asked me to show you to where will be your office." He came up the steps and took the crutches, offering his hand instead.

"Thank you." She held tight and leaned into him a bit as she limped. "Has Mr. Port departed for his trip already then?"

"No, ma'm."

"Emma," she corrected. "How am I to know what needs to be done?" She frowned and looked at him when they reached the bottom of the stairs.

Stevens handed over the crutches. "He left instructions on the desk."

Her lips pressed together. He'd taken the coward's way out instead of facing her. If he wanted to avoid her for the next three months, she wouldn't object. Stevens led her into the study from the previous night. She smothered a sigh. Out of all the rooms in the mansion, he'd given her the one she least wanted to remember.

Several pages of handwritten notes lay on the desk next to a laptop, with boxes of files stacked behind the L-shaped desk. He'd gone to a length of trouble to avoid conversation, that was certain. She sat in the leather chair worn down to fit his body intimately. It even smelled like him. This day couldn't get much worse.

"Let Ms. Van Hoodie or I know if you need anything, Ms. Hoplin," he said and left.

She sighed and started reading the instructions that covered everything from the password for the laptop to what needed to be done with the files. Firing up the computer, she swiveled in the chair and pulled out a small stack of files to start. Then she set them on the desk and reached to type in the computer password. Then she paused. The desk sat about six inches too high. "For the love of..." she muttered and fumbled for the lever to raise the chair. There wasn't one. Try as she might, there wasn't a way to raise the chair.

Heaving a sigh of frustration, she limped over to some books on the shelf. They appeared to be thick like encyclopedias or dictionaries. She was too irritable from lack of sleep to care to look. Plopping one down on the seat, she tried it. Still too low, she plopped another book down. Finally set up, she opened the first file and started making a spreadsheet of all the transactions. The minutes melted into hours.

Papers covered every inch of the desk. She dug out a calculator and pencil from the desk, along with a pad of paper. These numbers didn't make sense. Adding the twenty credit card reimbursement request receipts, five grocery receipts, utility bills, seven bed purchase receipts, and a very expensive toy store receipt in the first month didn't match what was on the daily records for those thirty days. Beds? Toys? What kind of business was this? And that was only a fraction of the first box. She jammed the pencil in her hair and twisted it to make a messy bun just to get it out of her face. Then she opened the top desk drawer, pulled out another perfectly sharpened pencil, and jotted down numbers on the scrap paper. Swiveling her chair to the right where the laptop faced the window, she stuck the pencil between her teeth and punched in more numbers into the spreadsheet. The numbers started falling into place. She snatched another receipt from the box and typed it in. Row after row, she typed and reviewed receipts and categorized. A hint of a pattern began to emerge. She smiled with excitement and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. When the room grew dim from the sun setting, she flipped on the desk light.

A heavy footstep entered the room after dark.

"I need a bit longer, Stevens. I think I'm figuring out the pattern." She didn't look to the left at the doorway but kept typing. Then she pulled one of the three pencils out of her hair and wrote down some more numbers. Holding the pencil between her teeth for a moment, she typed in a sum. Whoever did this embezzeling was a pure genius. The mathematics were so backwards that no one should have noticed anything was off.

Someone's hand tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear.

She jumped nearly a foot with fright, sending a stack of papers flying off the desk. She whipped around in the chair.

"It's just me." Mr. Port raised his hands in surrender. "My apologies." He bent and picked up the papers.

She laid a hand over her heaving chest to stop the mad hammering of her heart. Then she glanced at the computer. Three minutes to seven o'clock. "Sorry, I lost track of time." She hit Save and shut down the computer. Then she reached for her crutches.

"I didn't come to kick you out of the house, just to kick you out of the office. There's no need for you to work past five." He set the papers on the desk, caught her elbow, and helped her stand.

"Oh." She blinked, confused by his manner after last night.

He did a double take of the chair. "If you need a different chair, you can have one." He set aside the thick books and lifted the large chair with ease to turn it upside down. Pulling open the bottom desk drawer, he dug out a screwdriver and adjusted the underside. Then he flipped the chair upright. "Try it now."

She sat, the chair at the perfect height. "Thank you."

"It has a pressure mechanism that gets stuck sometimes." When she started to stand, he held out a hand for her to stay. He leaned back against the desk, his hands curling around the lip of it. "My apologies for last night." He looked her in the eye. "I said you can stay here if you wish, and I shouldn't have revoked my word."

With a disappointed sigh, she rubbed her forehead. She frowned and looked up at him with her heart on her sleeve. "But, that's not why I was upset."

He looked down at his feet for a minute. "I know." A soft sigh escaped him. "I've been giving mixed messages and said things yesterday that hurt you. I..." He seemed to stop and consider his words carefully. "I don't have relationships of any sort besides business. Stevens and Ms. Van Hoodie are the closest I have to family." His blue eye rose to meet hers.

Tilting her head slightly, she searched his face. "That's a lonely road to chose," she said sadly.

A sarcastic snort filled the room. "Far from a choice."

She shook her head, and pity rose up in her chest. "It's a choice. The moment I started to get too close, you threw me as far as you could without going so far you couldn't forgive yourself. You make a choice every day to shut out the world." She stood eye level, with him leaning against the desk. "I don't know what accident befell you or if you were born with something wrong with your face, but I think people were so cruel that you hide now." His expression gave nothing away. Her voice remained patient and soft. "For every thousand who are cruel, there is one who is extraordinarily kind. But you already know that because you've found Stevens and Trudy." She looked into his eye and said gently, "Goodnight, Mr. Port." Then she hobbled out on her crutches and left him to digest those words.

Stevens waited outside the door with her suitcase. "Should I return this to your room, Ms. Hoplin?"

"No, I think Mr. Port needs some space." Leaving him alone for now would be best, but it was hard to do. "Sally forth." She followed him out to the car.

"Just twenty minutes there. Any charges for anything you need can be billed to your room." He helped her down the steps and held the back car door open for her.

"Am I not allowed in the front?" she teased.

The corner of his mouth curled, the closest he'd ever come to smiling so far. He closed the door and opened the passenger side.

"Thank you." She got in, and he shut the door. As he walked around, something in the doorway of the house moved. Yellow light from the inside poured over Mr. Port's silhouette onto the front steps. He stood there with his hands in his pockets.

Stevens got in and they drove away.

She glanced back in the side mirror. He leaned his back against the doorframe and tilted his head back against it to look up at the ceiling. He'd obviously wanted to stop her, but couldn't bring himself to be so vulnerable. Part of her heart lifted to know he cared. It was a start.

The two-story hotel held eight rooms and appeared to be an old renovated house. Stevens helped her check-in and get up the stairs to her room.

"It's nothing fancy, but it's clean and the owner is a kind old woman. It's the only hotel in town. She lives next door, and there's just one other tenant downstairs, she said. You should have some peace and quiet," Stevens said. He set the suitcase on the floor in the small room. "Shall I come at 7:30 tomorrow?"

"Sure. Thank you for bringing me." She smiled and extended her hand.

This man, who looked like trouble at a bar fight, smiled and shook her hand with enthusiasm. "Ms. Van Hoodie said you make amazing chocolate chip cookies, and maybe you'd make some tomorrow if I brought you back?"

A belly laugh bubbled up. "I don't know if I'm amazing, but I won second place in a local baking contest. I'm sure I can pull myself away from work for an hour to make some."

He grinned and gave a nod as he left.

With a shake of her head, she got things out to go to bed. Mr. Port certainly kept interesting people around.


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's Note: Spoiler alert-If there are any younger readers, this chapter is going to seem like sexual violence will happen, but it won't.**

* * *

Something woke her up. She rubbed her eyes and looked at her cellphone on the nightstand. Two o'clock.

The doorknob to the hotel room jiggled. A shadow loomed under the door.

Her entire body jerked with fear, and she scrambled out of bed to the opposite side of the room. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end. Snatching her phone, she tried to dial 9-1-1. Her hands practically vibrated they shook so hard. 6-2-4. "No," she whimpered and frantically deleted the numbers.

The door rattled harder.

9-1-2. Shit. She jammed a finger on Delete and 1.

"The number you have dialed is not in service."

The phone almost slipped out of her shaking hands, and her breathing grew choppy. No. This must be one of the few areas of the country that didn't have emergency services. The seventy-year-old owner would be no help. Think. Think! Her dad had said once to do this. "John! Someone's at the door!" Most intruders got scared if someone knew they were there, particularly a man.

The fiddling stopped.

Time stood still, her heart suspended in fear. Then a deep, sickening laugh came through the door. "You're alone." The knob started jiggling harder, and metal scraped. He was picking the lock.

Her blood ran cold, and she jammed a chair under the doorknob. Then she stumbled back from the door like it was a venomous snake. Tears ran down her face. Grabbing a lamp as a weapon, she tried to dial on her cell, nearly dropping it twice.

"Hello?" Stevens sounded groggy.

"S, Stevens," she whimpered. "There's some,some..." She couldn't breathe.

"Calm down. What's wrong?" He sounded wide awake now.

"A m,man is t,trying to get in." She gasped for more air. "He knows I,I'm alone." The lamp slipped from her trembling hands and shattered into useless splinters. Where was another weapon? Her eyes darted around. A trickle of sweat inched down her spine. He was going to get in and the nightmares would come alive all over again.

"Put whatever you can in front of the door. I'm leaving right now." There was rustling through the phone.

"Emmaaaaa..." came the sing-song voice through the door. The door flexed as he threw himself against it.

She stopped breathing. Oh, god. That voice. Memories came slamming back. Choking. Punches. Kicks. Clothes ripping. A knife. Pain.

"Emma? Someone's trying to get in?" Mr. Port came on the line. His voice teered between anger and panic.

She sank to the floor and sobbed in terror, "It's him."

He needed no other explanation but seemed to understand she meant her ex. "Stevens, chopper! Now! Emma, we'll be there in less than five minutes. Stay on the phone."

"Open the door!" he roared and threw himself against it. The wood creaked, ready to give away.

"The door's b,breaking," she sobbed, so terrified she couldn't think.

Silence in the hall. Silence was more horrifying not knowing what he was doing.

"Get out a window." The whirl of chopper blades screamed in the background.

She stumbled to the window and pulled back the curtains. Eyes black as midnight and a twisted smile looked back at her. She screamed, dropping the phone and stumbling backwards.

The sickening smile slithered across his lips. His greasy black hair and pale skin glowed in the moonlight like an evil demon born of the darkness.

"Emma?! Emma?!" Mr. Port yelled through the phone.

"Hello, Emma," he smiled through the window. And then he raised a crowbar.

She scrambled for the door and flung the chair away. She jerked the doorknob. It didn't budge. He'd jammed the door shut. Shit. Oh, shit. She clutched the knob and flung her weight backwards to pry it open. Her eyes flew to the window.

The glass shattered in the moonlight like thousands of crystals raining down.

"Nooooo!" she screamed and flung herself against the door in a panic to get out.

"Emma!" Mr. Port screamed through the phone. "Grab a weapon! Use anything!"

He climbed through the window.

She dove for the flimsy chair, the only possible weapon. All she could do was huddle in the corner and wait for an opportunity. Her face crumpled and tears of terror cursed down her cheeks.

Keeping his eyes on her, he picked up the phone. "Emma's gonna play."

"Emma, I'm almost-" Mr. Port yelled for her to hear.

He hung up the phone mid-sentence. "It's been a long time." He swung the crowbar from side to side as he sauntered across the room, taking his time to let her fear surmount itself with each step.

She could barely stand from the trembling. "Stop. It's j,just more jail charges." The door was her only way out with him between her and the window.

A blood-curling laugh rose up his throat. Then he lunged and caught her by the throat in an instant, pinning her against the wall. He slammed the crowbar down on the chair. It splintered like a twig.

She gasped for air and uselessly clawed at his hand and thick forearm.

"I lost three years because of you," he hissed. "This time I won't make the mistake of letting you squeal again." He brought the crowbar up to caress her cheek with it's cold iron.

She tried to kick, but caught him with her bad ankle. Searing pain shot down her foot as if weakened tendons tore. Spots began to monopolize her vision. Blindly clawing, she tried to find his eyes.

He raised her onto her toes, cutting off all air. "Do you remember the game?" He hooked the crowbar on the neck of her nightgown and jerked. It ripped down the front to her naval. His sticky, wet tongue licked up her throat to her jaw. Bile rose in her throat. Then his teeth sank into the base of her neck, sending white-hot pain shooting down her back along a major nerve. Her mouth fell open in a silent scream.

Fear died as her body began shutting down. Instincts rose up. And then panic. Then rage. Jumping the best she could, she leapt to press her feet against the wall and then propelled her legs into his stomach.

He lost his balance and stumbled back, dropping her to the floor.

She coughed and gasped for air, scrambling to her feet and blinking hard as her vision returned. The oxygen deprivation made it hard to even stay upright.

Pure anger burned in his eyes. He rushed her.

_It takes more effort to hit and miss_. He had said that to her the last time he had attacked. Probably the only worthwhile thing he'd ever said. She sidestepped, pressing into the corner of the room to avoid his propelling inertia, and slammed the heel of her hand up into his face. Pain jolted down her wrist at the contact.

He howled in pain and then slammed face first into wall.

She darted across the bed while he still tried to gain his bearings. Her protesting ankle was a dull pain under the adrenaline. The window. She grabbed the ledge and pulled her weight up.

A hand caught her leg and jerked her backwards. "Nooo!" She slammed onto her back. He climbed on top of her. Clawing, bucking, and kicking didn't faze him.

He pulled up her nightgown.

"Nooo! Nooo!" She screamed over and over at the top of her lung, her throat burning as she made herself hoarse. Someone outside would hear. Someone had to. Tears coursed down her cheeks. She wouldn't be a statistic again. She flailed and bucked enough to slam a hip up between his legs. It only pissed him off.

Capturing both of her hands in his, he pressed them into the floor painfully hard. He knelt on her thighs, his knees cutting into muscles. Her scream of pain sliced through the air. The more she fought, the more he immobilized her. His other hand tore off her underwear. Then he looked at her. And smiled. "Beg."

Tears ran down her face. He'd kill her in the end. There was nothing left to lose, and she'd never beg. She looked right into those vacant eyes. "Fuck yourself, Gaston."

A huge silhouette shot through the window behind him and ripped him off, throwing him into the wall like he weighed no more than a bag of potatoes. He hit with a sickening crack and collapsed on the floor.

The silhouette reached out a hand to her slowly, as if not to frighten her. A sweet woody scent filled the air. Her chest heaved as tears of relief replaced the fear. She reached up a shaking hand to take his. But Gaston roared in fury and charged.

Mr. Port spun around just in time to take Gaston's shoulder in the gut and be swept across the room as Gaston barrelled him into a wall.

She staggered to her feet, her thigh muscles refusing to cooperate from their abuse. Stevens wrapped an arm around her and dragged her back, tugging the bedsheet around her nakedness. "No-" She tried to pry his hands away to get to Mr. Port.

"He's alright," Stevens said and held her back. "The police are on their way. Mr. Port can handle himself."

The air had to have been knocked out of Mr. Port with that force. But he didn't miss a beat and clasped his hands together. He raised his fist over his head and slammed it down on Gaston's back. Gaston collapsed under the blow; Mr. Port landed on his feet. He stepped over Gaston and then turned and waited. "Get up," he snarled.

"Legally it's not self-defense until attacked. I daresay Mr. Port hopes he gets up many times," Stevens whispered and backed her up near the safety of the doorway.

Gaston pushed himself up to his hands and knees. "You want the whore? I get first dibbs."

Mr. Port didn't wait for an attack but lifted Gaston up by the shirtcollar and then slammed a knee into Gaston's gut before dropping him.

He cried out in pain and curled up in the fetal position holding his belly.

Then Mr. Port walked over to pick up the crowbar. He walked back so slowly, looking the crowbar over, that only an idiot wouldn't know the rage bubbling beneath the calm exterior. He toed Gaston onto his back. "What was this for?"

"Nothing," Gaston moaned, still holding his belly.

Mr. Port dropped to his knee so fast and whipped the crowbar down with such force that it whistled through the air. It smashed through the hardwood floor. Right next to Gaston's head.

She startled almost as hard as Gaston.

"What was this for?!" Mr. Port roared, making her ears ring.

Gaston didn't answer.

Mr. Port's rage tenfolded his strength. He hauled Gaston up with one hand and slammed him against the wall. Then he pressed the flat of the crowbar into Gaston's neck and leaned a hand on it on each side. His chest heaved with rage.

Gaston gurgled for air and clawed fruitlessly at the bar. He had seemed like such a monster moments ago, but now was as helpless as she'd been.

"So help me, you'd better pray you're locked up until I'm old and dead," he seethed. "Or I'll take you to an abandoned slaughterhouse where no one will hear your screams. If you touch a hair on her ever again, this is the first thing that goes." Mr. Port slammed his knee up into Gaston's groin.

He howled in pain. "Please. I didn't even hit her," he whimpered.

He dropped the crowbar and replaced it with his barehands. "You fucking filth! You wanted her to beg before you raped her!" he roared.

She silently stepped up beside Mr. Port and set a hand on his arm.

He dropped Gaston. "Look," he told her, glaring down at Gaston with disgust. "This is no monster to be afraid of."

She looked down. Gaston curled up on the floor crying and holding between his legs. He reached out for her bedsheet, and she stumbled back in fear.

"Don't call the police," he begged.

Mr. Port shot down and grabbed Gaston's collar. "What was not clear about not touching her?" he hissed, his voice shaking with rage.

Before she could react, his fury unleashed.

He flung Gaston across the floor away from her and then advanced to slam a fist into Gaston's face.

She startled, never having witnessed a punch so hard.

Gaston's eyes rolled back and he collapsed.

Stevens darted forward and felt for a pulse. "You're lucky that didn't kill him."

Mr. Port rubbed his knuckles. "Would've been time well spent in prison," he growled. Then he looked at her, the rage gone and replaced with gentleness. "Did he hurt you?"

She stared at him. It was like a switch had flipped off. Like insanity had lost control for a moment.

"I won't hurt you," he said softly and held out a hand to her. When she hesitated, he said calmly, "Navy SEAL training."

The hand-to-hand combat made sense now. Suddenly, the night all dropped like a thousand bricks on her, and she burst into tears, flinging herself in his arms. He held her tight as she sobbed until the police arrived.

He kept a comforting arm around her, gently encouraging when she'd lose the nerve during giving her statement to the police. Odd that no one seemed to think anything of his ski mask.

When one of the male paramedics had to look her over for injuries and she shied away in fear, he silently walked over and sat with her, keeping his eye diverted. He simply held her hand.

"Mr. Port," the lead officer said when the paramedic finished. "He's claiming assault from you." He tapped his pen on his notepad.

Her eyes flew to Mr. Port. A Navy SEAL attacking a civilian without it being self-defense surely carried heavy charges.

He looked at the officer, utterly calm. "I beat the shit out of him."

The officer suppressed a smile and wrote in his notepad. "Ms. Hoplin, do you feel that you adequately defended yourself from your attacker? Mr. Port here just punched him when he found you being attacked?"

She saw where this was going. "Yes. I think Gaston is confused."

"Alright then. I'll be in touch with any questions. He'll be back in jail just for escaping, not to mention about five more charges from tonight." He nodded and left.

"Thank you," Mr. Port said.

She looked up at him. "It's least I could do for you rescuing me."

"Let's go home. Your suitcase was confiscated as part of the crime scene." He unbuttoned his shirt.

She finally took in his appearance and saw him wearing flannel pajamas and snow boots.

He shrugged off his shirt and quickly swapped it for the blanket without exposing her. Then he started buttoning it up, keeping his right side turned away from her.

Part of her brain registered the beautiful hills and valleys of his bare torso, but most of her brain was simply numb and exhausted. "You'll get cold."

His teeth glinted through the mask. "I'll be fine." Then he helped her into her coat that had somehow magically been at hand. Curling his left arm around her, they followed Stevens out to the chopper parked in the middle of the street.

The short flight to Mr. Port's house was a numb blur.

He carried her to the bedroom, and her mind started functioning again when he set her on the bed. "Is there a shower?" She still clutched the front of her zipped coat together in a white-knuckled grip, and her hands started to ache. A tear rolled down her cheek.

He slowly squatted to look up at her. "Emma, did he force intercourse?" His voice vibrated gentle and steady and safe.

She shook her head.

Gently guiding her hand away from the coat, he held it and searched her eyes. Concern, worry, and fear clouded his eye. "When he attacked you before, did he rape you?"

Pulling her hand away, she wrapped her arms around herself tight. Her eyes slid from his to stare blindly at the floor. Numbness felt better than the fear, than the memories.

"You're safe here. You have the only key to your room too." He scooped her up when she didn't respond and carried her out. "There's a shower in my room."

He brought in everything she'd need. "I'll be out here if you need anything." Then he shut the door.

She scrubbed under hot water until her skin glowed red. Then the aching in her chest started. It grew and swelled, refusing to be suppressed any longer. She wouldn't cry this time. It'd taken too long to put her life back together. Then her hand bumped the thick scar on her thigh. It was too much. The pain and fear bubbled up. She drowned in it, unable to escape. Slowly sinking down, she huddled under the streaming water and curled her knees up to her chest. Tears started flowing. Soon, gut-wrenching sobs wracked her, making it hard to even breathe. She buried her face in her hands and rocked, weeping so hard she made not a sound for seconds at a time.

Footsteps entered. "Emma?" Worry filled his voice from the other side of the shower curtain. "Come out so you're not by yourself." He flung a towel to hang over the shower rod.

She barely processed his words.

The shower curtain opened a minute later, with his blind side turned to her. He turned off the water and draped a large towel around her before scooping her out. "He's gone," he promised. "It's alright."

She wrapped her arms around his neck and wept, soaking his shirt. But he didn't seem to mind because he sat on the edge of the bed and set her in his lap. He didn't let go.

* * *

She jerked hard and woke up in a dark room. Her heart raced. Where was she? The aroma of roses filled the air. Mr. Port's home. It was just a nightmare. The thundering of her heart calmed a fraction, and she looked around. The shadows twitched and taunted in the moonlight of the unshrouded windows. She hunkered down in the blankets. Her hands started shaking. Shapes took forms. Eyes glowed. Tree branches turned into claws. An owl hooted. A branch tapped the window, and she jumped out of her skin. Flinging back the covers, she tore down the hall, willing to brave the darkness in return for the promise of safety at the end.

The hall seemed to never end, and she took a turn to the right into the other wing of the house. His room had to have been this way. The soft glow of a dying fire flickered into the hall, so she ran toward it, ignoring the terrible pain it caused her ankle.

A large body lay under the blankets, with deep, even breathing filling the room. His mask rested on the nightstand. She crept closer to see him shirtless and lying on his right side. Not wanting to betray the man who had done so much for her, she tiptoed around the bed and didn't look at his face as she slipped under the sheets and kept her back to him.

He stirred. "Emma?" Sleep wove through his voice.

She tensed, remaining on her side facing away from him. "I didn't look. I dreamed about him and couldn't sleep." Her face burned with embarrassment at getting caught. Who crawled into her boss's bed from a nightmare like a five year old? She pushed back the blankets and sat up.

"You don't have to go. Just stay there for a moment." The sheet rustled. "Alright." He caught her hand and tugged her back into bed. He wore the mask and a nightshirt. "Do you want to talk about it?"

She shook her head and laid down as close to the edge of the bed as possible and faced away.

"You'll fall off the bed." His arm wrapped around her and pulled her back to rest against his chest. "Is this alright?"

No, it was perfect. She relaxed against him, and his arm wrapped around her. "Thank you," she whispered.

"You can sleep now," he whispered and kept her cocooned in the safety of his arms.

The sun shined through the drapes the next morning. She stretched and yawned, the previous night seeming like a faded nightmare. Then she rolled over in bed to see a note on Mr. Port's pillow with a large blossom white rose.

_You may lounge as long as you like. If you're not up by ten, Trudy will bring up breakfast if I'm unable to get away from business conference calls._

_White roses mean promise, sincerity, purity, and loyalty. This is my promise that you will never have reason to fear me; I would do anything to keep you from harm. _

_Strength comes in many forms, the strongest of which is surviving. __You are as pure and flawless as this bloom, Emma. Even in your darkest moments, never forget that. _

_Jason_

The letter blurred as tears welled. His words were a beautiful balm on old wounds that had refused to heal.


	14. Chapter 14

She took her flower and returned to her room to get dressed. At half past eight, she looked in the mirror of her bathroom. Puffy, slightly red eyes were hard to conceal even with makeup. Even her brown hair looked dull. Exhaustion made her not want to do anything. She simply stared blankly into her own vacant eyes.

Trudy flew into the bedroom and looked around in a panic. Then the woman shot into the bathroom and crushed her in a fierce hug. "Heavens to bits, I slept through it. Mr. Port told me what happened. I said he shoulda woke me, don'tcha know. You poor thing. Where are you hurt?" She stepped back and held her by the shoulders.

It felt good to have Trudy's energy around. "Is there aspirin? My ankle hurts." She was too exhausted to cry anymore, but her voice sounded dull.

Trudy studied her intently, her face falling. "I'll get some. I have a remedy for your eyes. Then we're going to go sit in the arboretum under the sunshine, don'tcha know. There's no sitting in here and getting depressed like a monkey in hay."

Mr. Port knocked on the open bedroom door after Trudy had worked miracles on her puffy eyes with some poultice. She sat on the bed in a tank top and shorts, with ice on her ankle. Trudy had applied the poultice to her aching thigh muscles and the massive neck bruise from the bite mark.

He walked in with a big gooey cinnamon roll on a plate and a glass of juice. "I didn't expect you up yet. Here's some breakfast." He set it down on the nightstand and then sat on the far side of the bed, turning to face her. "How are you feeling?"

She gave a one-shouldered shrug.

"She hasn't said much," Trudy spoke up from where she laid out an outfit on the bed. "We're going to the arboretum after breakfast, don'tcha know."

He delivered Trudy a harsh look. "You aren't going to force her to do anything, Ms. Van Hoodie."

Trudy stopped and looked at him. "She can't sit in here all day. I've seen sheep in trees after a tornado look happier than her." She jutted her chin out.

This was a first seeing anyone challenge Mr. Port.

As calm as could be, he turned his attention to her. "What do you want to do today, Ms. Hoplin?"

She folded her arms over her chest, a little chilly. "I think I prefer to work."

"Then you shall work. For a bit." He took a blanket from the foot of the bed and then stood. Folding the thin mink in half to be the size of a shawl, he draped it over her shoulders without disturbing the poultice. "May I?" He gestured to her shoulder.

She nodded.

He lifted the rag and frowned. His fingers grazed over the dark red bruise without causin an inkling of pain. "Does it hurt?" He looked into her eyes.

The sunlight glinted in his eye. Flecks of green glistened amid the sea of blue. What made it so gorgeous, though, was the kindness shining out. Her heart pulsed a little faster.

"It hurts to turn her head much," Trudy's voice cut in, breaking the spell.

He sighed. "Excuse us for a moment, Ms. Van Hoodie." The huskiness of his voice danced over her ears.

"But-"

Tearing his gaze away, he looked at Trudy. "You have time to smother her later."

Trudy frowned, as protective as a mother hen of her chick, and stomped out.

She couldn't suppress a smile.

His gaze returned, and he reached up to stroke her jaw with the pad of his thumb. "There's that smile," he whispered and leaned in slightly closer.

Her heart beat faster. It felt so safe having him close. His aroma assaulted her, intoxicated her.

"Are you scared? Your heart's racing."

Shivers ran down her spine from the huskiness of his voice. She bit her lip and shook her head, falling into his tender gaze.

His thumb traveled to run over her lips. He leaned in with the good side of his face toward her. Warm, soft lips brushed the unbruised side of her neck.

Electricity jolted through her, and her head instinctively tilted to the side to grant him better access. She arched into him like an invisible string drawing her closer. He leaned his hands on the bed on each side of her hips without touching her. But she wanted those gentle hands to wash away the nightmares. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders, begging for more.

Warm kisses followed the pulse of her heartbeat down her throat, but the kisses deepened when she pulled him closer. His lips parted. His hot tongue tasted and nibbled her skin. Those strong arms embraced her, crushing her breasts against his chest. His hot pants puffed against her skin, fueling the embers sparking between them.

She sighed softly in pleasure. His hands. They kneaded her upper and lower back, as if they itched to explore. Heat coiled low in her belly until she throbbed, each heartbeat bringing pleasure. She needed those hands to wander, to touch. The restlessness built until she grabbed his white dress shirt tucked in at the waist. Pull it free. Feel his delicious skin. She needed to taste him, to feel the pressure of his urgent kisses against her lips. She tilted her head to try to capture his mouth and started to tug free his shirt.

He released her and pulled back. "My apologies. I took liberties." He shot up and backed up a step, his eye wide and startled. Then he walked out.

She stared at the empty doorway, her blood still on fire, her panting filling the silence. Her skin still burned from his touch, still throbbed between her thighs. She wanted him to push her down into the bed and rip off her clothes. To take her in the wild frenzy of passion. Why, then, had the same thing terrified her with Gaston? Because she trusted Mr. Port. Because she loved him.

* * *

Trudy came back in a bit later. "Mr. Port had to leave. He said your parents called him when you didn't answer your phone." She set down a tray of cookies and other comfort foods.

"I think it's in my suitcase at the police station. Will Mr. Port return tonight?"

"In a week. Stevens went to retrieve your bag, don'tcha know."

She stared at Trudy, her heart dropping to her feet. He knew the strange noises of the house frightened her yet, and that the nightmares were cut fresh last night all over again. And he'd left, not even twelve hours after the attack. She angrily brushed away a tear. He's a boss, nothing more. He had no obligation to stay. Not even an obligation to come along with Stevens last night. It was better this way; better to not rely on someone other than herself.

"Your parents will be here in two days. I've got a lot of cleanin' to do, for hootin' May Day's sakes. Come, we're going for a walk in the arboretum." Trudy grabbed her crutches.

"No, my thighs hurt something terrible to move this morning, even with the ibuprofen."

Trudy sighed in disappointment and looked at her. "Ashame. Someone very much wanted to meet you." She failed miserably in a scowl and broke into a smile. Then she whistled.

A big, fluffy golden retriever came lopping in, his tongue lolling with each bound. The bushy tail wagged so fast he nearly fell over. Then he plopped his bottom at Trudy's feet and looked at her expectantly, his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth.

"You're as much of a pig as a pig, don'tcha know," she laughed and pulled a cookie crumb from her pocket.

He gobbled it up, licked his lips, and waited for more.

"Is this Mr. Port's dog?" She smiled and patted the bed.

The big beast cocked his head and thumped his tail.

"Yours. And he ain't allowed on the furniture, don'tcha know. Mr. Port would have a heart attack."

Her eyes flew to Trudy. "Mine?"

The dog scooted closer and nudged his wet nose under her hand, demanding a petting.

She scratched his ears, and he moaned with delight. A rolled up paper was tucked in his collar. She opened it to see Mr. Port's elegant scrawl.

_I could not delay my business trip any more. An urgent matter came up that required Stevens to fly me to my private jet immediately. My apologies for the blatant lack of manners this morning. I won't be so reckless again._

Did he regret the kissing? It certainly sounded like it.

_This is Prince. He's approximately three years old and belonged to an older woman in town, who passed away two days ago. He's very well behaved-a therapy dog of sorts, although his waistline has been spoiled by sweets. Prince is known for his loud bark and takes guard duty seriously. He's in need of a home, Ms. Hoplin. He told me that he prefers a younger woman who won't mind him sleeping at her feet at night but who might slip him a cookie now and then. My only rule: no dog on the furniture and covering it with dog hair. I do not fancy having my suits turned into furs._

_JP_

She smiled, touched by the gift. Folding up the paper, she looked at Prince, who rested his head on the side of the bed and looked up with big brown puppy eyes. "No," she laughed. "He'll do us both in if you start coming up on furniture." He thumped his tail.

Mr. Port probably had an agenda for giving the dog, and it worked. Despite the pain, she got up that afternoon and played fetch with Prince down the hall. Lacking a dog toy or stick, she balled up a sock.

He was quick, despite his large belly. He charged down the hall and opened his mouth to dive for the sock without breaking pace. He did a flyby, snatching up his new toy. Stevens came up the stairs, and Prince darted around him at the last second before circling around and charging back toward her at full speed. He dropped his hind legs and skidded to a halt a foot away. Then he spit out the wet sock ball and waited, panting happily.

"He likes you, Ms. Hoplin," Stevens said as he approached.

"He likes my slimy sock," she laughed and picked up the soggy thing to throw it again. Prince tore after it.

He stopped with a pad and pen in hand. "Are there things you require for him?" He read the paper. "Mr. Port said to get him a license, call the vet to see if he needs shots, get him food and water bowls, two brushes because he will probably break them with all his hair, a leash, and a shovel for his messes outside. Shall I add a ball?"

Prince dropped the sock, so she bent down and then threw it again. "Food."

"He has a 25-pound bag you inherited. Krunchie Munchie Puppie," he said, trying to look dignified saying it.

She laughed. "He isn't a puppy anymore, and I'm not feeding him some junk brand. I've heard a lot of recalls on that one. I'll call the vet and ask what's a healthy one. That might be part of his weight problem."

"Yes, ma'm."

"Emma. You make me feel so old with 'ma'm.'" Prince returned and dropped the sock.

"I don't know that Mr. Port would approve," he frowned.

"Well, Mr. Port isn't here. What's your name?" Prince grew impatient and barked for her to toss the sock, so she did.

He looked flustered. "Peter, but I've gone by Stevens for so long I probably wouldn't answer."

She studied him. "How long have you been with Mr. Port?"

"Almost four years, Ms. Hoplin." He folded his hands behind him, seemingly pleased.

So the house staff had come together almost at the same time. "May I ask how you came to be here?"

Holding his head high, he looked her in the eye. "An alcoholic, ma'm. Never laid a hand on them, but my wife and boy couldn't take it anymore. They left and found a good man. I was going to kill myself from depression. I met Mr. Port that night. I owe him a great deal, Ms. Hoplin, and plan to serve him for many years."

The gratitude and deep loyalty came through in his tone. It obviously took him courage to not be ashamed of his past, something that Mr. Port also probably had a lot to do with.

"And Trudy?"

"That is Ms. Van Hoodie's story to tell, Ms. Hoplin. I should be on my way down the mountain before dark, if you'll be so kind as to call the vet and select a food."

She nodded and spotted Prince asleep in the middle of the hall with the sock in his mouth. Then she turned back to Stevens. "May I call you 'Peter?'"

He shook his head. "My wife used to call me by it. I prefer 'Pete' or 'Stevens.'"

"Alright. Pete, would you carry me downstairs before you go? I should get some work done. Then maybe we can work on those cookies when you get back?"

He smiled. "Yes, Ms. Hoplin."

Trudy was attacking every dust bunny in the study when she entered for work.

"I did this last week, don'tcha know? That dog is going to be a thorn in my side." She climbed around a chair with the vacuum.

Prince stumbled in, sleepy from his exercise. He dropped onto the large oriental rug with the sock in his mouth and sprawled out to twice his width, somehow.

"Don'tcha go there. I have to do that rug." Trudy waved the hose attachment at him. "Up, ya beast! Up!" She nudged a foot under him.

Loud snores answered.

She sat at the desk and suppressed a smile. It might be good to have someone around to stir Trudy's blood. "I don't think he's going to move."

Trudy knelt and tried to slide Prince across the rug, barely moving him an inch. He just groaned.

Ducking behind the laptop screen, she smothered a laugh.

"I heard that! He's interfering with my job, don'tcha know. He's as stubborn as a salmon in the river on Friday."

"Prince!" She whistled, feeling an inkling of remorse for Trudy's frustration.

Prince just rolled over onto his other side.

She couldn't help it and burst out laughing. "He's tired, Trudy. The rug looks fine."

Trudy got to her feet, mumbling about Jesus making stubborn beasts. She pulled the sock out of Prince's mouth. "And he's adding to my laundry."

Prince lifted his head and whimpered, staring at the sock.

"Oh no, you don't. I'm not washin' and darnin' socks daily because you took to them, dont'cha know."

"Ohhh, but he wants it. Just that one. I'll train him to leave socks alone."

Trudy sighed and dropped it back at Prince's feet. Prince snatched it up and flopped his head down, snoring with the sock in his mouth a minute later.

"Trudy?" She typed in the password to unlock the computer. "How did you come to work here?" Silence. She looked over at the woman to see a fond look come over her features.

"I was out of a job in Minnesota. The factory there laid a bunch of us off with no more thought than a firefly eating grass. My sister hadn't been living in Minnesota at the time and met Mr. Port one night when she'd gotten hurt. Weeks later when she was out of the hospital, she told me about Mr. Port needing a housekeeper here." She smiled softly. "I wouldn't dream of workin' for another soul." Then she took the vacuum and started working in the next room.

Pete returned a moment later. "A fallen tree is blocking the road. I called the town's crew. They said they'll get to it tomorrow."

"Looks like Krunchie Munchie Puppies for another day, Prince." She got up from the desk, not feeling like working anymore anyways. "How about those cookies, Pete?"

Prince's head shot up, and he perked his ears.

Pete smiled. "I think he knows that word."

Prince beat them out to the kitchen.

A man as large as Pete in a tiny cooking apron was a sight to see. Trudy and him got along far better than she'd realized too. They teased and bantered like old friends, even calling each other by their first names.

Trudy beat the counter with her hand and crossed her legs, almost ready to wet herself as Pete told the story.

"So I go outside to get Trudy's purse she'd forgotten in the car," he said. "This is the second day we knew each other, and I wasn't going to take any orders from a woman."

Trudy gasped for air, tears running down her face. "It was thirty below outside, and my hair was wet. I said a gentleman goes outside for a lady, and if he didn't, he could make his own meals and do his own laundry because I wasn't goin' ta take orders from the likes of an arrogant man."

He laughed, having a hard time getting words out. "Mr. Port heard us arguing and said we had thirty seconds to work it out or we were both fired. So I step out the door, and my feet slide right out on ice in the drive."

Trudy threw up an arm to mimic his feet.

"I slid, I slid..." He started crying from laughing so hard.

She started laughing seeing them so hysterical.

"He shot down the drive like..." Trudy gasped for air. "Like butter on ice, his feet sticking up in the air and screamin' like a girl!" she roared.

"I didn't scream like a girl!" he protested, wiping away the tears.

"I never heard a girl scream that high," Trudy countered. "The town asked the next day if a siren had gone off."

She held her belly and had to sit before she wet herself too.

It took until after dark to get the cookies made because they kept having to stop from rolling on the floor with laughter. They ended up having cookies and milk for dinner at nine o'clock.

Sitting with them at the far end of the dining table, she watched their animated chatter. Both Trudy and Pete came to work for Mr. Port because he'd help them or someone dearly loved. She had a sense that something more, something deeper, tied those three together.


	15. Chapter 15

**Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews! This is a big climax chapter. :)**

* * *

The visit with her parents came and went without a glitch. Mr. Port had given them a general overview of the attack, which spared her from having to retell it when she didn't want to. It didn't seem like he'd given many details, leaving them to her to fill in what she wanted. How had he known she wasn't ready to retell it all? Or that Prince would help keep her from holing up in the bedroom?

Trudy and Pete got along fabulously with her parents and even received invitations to stop out for a visit if they were ever near Chicago.

* * *

She worked in the study the next day. Now where did he keep extra staples? Pulling open the drawers, she dug around. A paper stuck out of the track from the drawer above. She tugged it out. An unopened piece of mail to Dr. Jason Port. She frowned. If he had a doctor in philosophy, shouldn't Trudy and Pete be calling him Dr. Port? He seemed like the type to have excelled in academics. Had he gone into the Navy SEALS to pay for college? What did he have a degree in that was this lucrative for him? More pieces kept overturning, creating a bigger and bigger puzzle.

* * *

Six days after Mr. Port had left, she scrubbed the kitchen floor one evening with Trudy. Again. Pete came through the back door with Prince. "I think he's on empty," he sighed with relief.

"You scrub the floor the next time," Trudy grumbled.

"I say you need a new vet," he said and put up a babygate he'd bought that afternoon to block Prince in the kitchen.

"It _is_ kind of a big thing to not say to gradually transition dog foods so he doesn't get diarrhea," she admitted.

They sat on stools around the solid wood kitchen table afterwards and played cards because Prince cried if he was gated alone.

Footsteps echoed in the foyer. They all looked at each other.

Mr. Port stepped up to the gate and looked down at it in confusion. He wore the mask, but his white shirt was unbuttoned at the neck, the tie hung loose, and his suit was a bit rumpled. He looked tired and unusually untidy.

"You're home early, sir. I thought you were going to call tomorrow." Pete stood up quickly.

Mr. Port's eye transferred to look at them. "I finished early, and it was faster to take a cab than wait for the car. Why is there a baby gate?" He didn't look pleased.

She bit her lip.

"Ms. Hoplin's baby whines if we leave him alone, don'tcha know," Trudy said.

His eye nearly popped out of his head. "What baby?"

Prince whined and scrambled for the back door. But he didn't make it in time. He squatted and made a mess.

"What. Is wrong. With him?" Mr. Port demanded.

She jumped up for the cleaner while Pete and Trudy grabbed the papertowels and a trashbag. "The vet didn't tell us to slowly transition to new food. The food he was on is really fattening, so he's on something healthier now. He cries if we leave him out here alone."

"No. Absolutely not." He stepped over the gate and marched to the back door. He opened it, and Prince ran outside. Then he shut the door and turned, looking none too pleased. "He stays outside until this passes."

"But-"

His eye silenced her instantly. Then he stormed to the doorway and stopped at the gate. Jerking it excessively hard, he took it down and jammed it behind a chair.

Prince pawed at the door and whined.

It must have been a bad trip. She limped out after him. He headed toward the stairs. And straight for the bannister. "Mr. Port!" But she was too late.

He slammed right into it, taking the punch to the gut. A grunt escaped him, and he doubled over with a curse.

She hurried over and set a hand on his back. "Are you alright?"

"Fine," he gasped and straightened, still holding his stomach. Then he pulled away, gripping the railing as if to stay upright.

"What's wrong?"

"Get Stevens." He sank onto the stairs.

She ran into the kitchen. "Pete, something's wrong with Mr. Port." She waved for him to hurry.

He darted out and knelt beside Mr. Port, speaking quietly.

Mr. Port nodded and Pete helped him up, wrapping an arm around his waist. He set his arm around Pete's shoulders as they turned to go up the stairs.

"Mr. Port?" She wrung her hands and then limped up the stairs to his other side, slipping her hand into his.

They stopped and he looked in her direction but not at her. "Go back to the kitchen." He gave a slight squeeze to her hand and let go.

She stared. He acted like he was suddenly...blind. "I want to help," she said carefully, not wanting him to push her away again.

"Just a migraine." He gave a slight nod for Pete to continue.

She watched them go. Worry gnawed at her. Plus, he'd done so much for her that she should be there for him.

Trudy came out. "Come, let's start dinner," she urged.

Her eyes remained on the stairs where the men had disappeared down the hall. "Do these migraines inflict him often?" Silence. She looked at Trudy to see the woman reluctant to say anything. So, she climbed the stairs and paced outside his closed door.

Pete came out and shut the door behind himself.

"Is he alright?"

"He's just resting."

She wrung her hands. "Is it truly a migraine? He doesn't seem like himself." Something felt wrong. Something nagged in her stomach.

"Wait here a moment." He disappeared inside the softly lit room and then stepped out. The room was dark now. "He said you can go in."

She stepped in, the only light a small electric candle far from the bed. It offered enough of a glow to outline furniture but nothing else.

"Stevens says you're turning yourself gray out there." He sounded tired.

Walking over, she felt the edge of the bed and trailed her hand along until she brushed his hip and encountered his hand. "There's something more to it than a migraine." She took his hand and held tight. He didn't hold very tight.

A soft sigh filled the air. "Everything's alright now, and it _is_ just a migraine."

Her hand slowly went limp in his. "What did Trudy and Stevens do to earn your trust?" she whispered, losing hope that he'd ever confide in her.

"They knew my secrets before I could buffer them from the burdens that come with it. I only want to protect you, Emma."

She knelt beside the bed and cradled his hand to her cheek, letting the tears wash over his hand. "I wish you wouldn't," she whispered. It hurt so much to see him suffering but unable to help him. She let go of his hand and walked to the door.

"Emma?" He sounded so unsure, so nervous, so unlike himself.

She stopped.

"I can't tell you everything. Don't ask questions about what I will say."

Walking back over to him, she sat on the edge of the bed when he scooted over slightly.

His hand slipped into hers. "The doctor said to expect migraines." He trembled.

"It's alright," she whispered. "I promise whatever it is, it won't change what I think of you." She held his hand to her cheek so he could feel her expression wouldn't turn into revulsion. Her heart raced, scared of what had happened that made him so afraid to be seen.

"There was an accident a few years ago." He audibly swallowed hard. "One of the damages was my..." He took a deep, shakey breath. "My eyeball had to be removed."

She stroked his arm through his shirt and nodded slightly. That certainly wasn't worth being this scared to tell. But he said 'one of the damages.' She waited for him to continue.

"I had several plastic surgeries to salvage...pieces. The surgeons thought I could eventually have a prosthetic eye." His voice quivered. "A cyst formed in the eye socket, making a prostethic impossible. It became painful over the past year to the point of taking asprin daily." His hand turned over to clasp hers tight, and his breathing picked up so much that it sounded like he struggled to not weep.

His pain brought tears to her eyes. She climbed on the bed on his good side and curled up to him. Her hand slipped into his and held tight. "Stop," she whispered. "I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have pushed. You don't have to tell me." She brought his hand to her lips.

"I've wanted to, but I've been so scared. Don't search my name on the Internet." His voice cracked, and his hand clasped hers as if seeking strength.

"I promise." She frowned. "Are there pictures you don't want me to see? Something about the accident you don't want me to know?"

He sniffled. "The paparazzi got into the hospital and splashed pictures on the Internet. I don't want you to see them or the the names tagged to them."

"I won't. But the names aren't true. Anyone who knows you sees a heart bigger than this house." She rested a hand on his chest and gently stroked. Now Trudy's words made sense: a rose has no eyes to see the beast. He had called her the rose. And himself the beast. What other horrid names had they given him? No wonder why he lived on the top of a mountain away from everyone. "Is the cyst giving you the migraine?"

His chest heaved under her hand. "I had to leave to have surgery."

She blinked and her hand stilled. Nausea made her stomach churn. He couldn't possibly be talking about this past week. No one should have to endure surgery alone, much less one that would cause disfigurement and so much emotional trauma.

"They..." His voice cracked. "They did exenteration thinking the cyst would turn into cancer otherwise." He breathed so fast he'd make himself hyperventilate.

She couldn't handle seeing him so upset. "Shhhh, slow down. It's alright. I don't know what exenteration means, and I don't have to know if you don't want." She stroked his chest. "I suspected something was wrong with your eye because what other reason to sew the ski mask shut? This doesn't shock me, Jason. Even so, why would I think less of you?" His fear sliced through her heart like a knife.

He captured her hand on his chest, his voice still quivering. "Exenteration is the removal of the eyelids and muscles in the socket. They took a skin graft from my thigh to cover the bone."

That made more sense why he was worried to tell her. But what had been so terrible about the accident? An eyeball removal wasn't as disfiguring as an exenteration. A sick feeling in her stomach grew. She leaned up on her elbow to look down at him in the darkness. "Jason? Was it a car accident?"

Silence. He swallowed hard, his heart slamming under her hand. "A fire," he whispered.

She closed her eyes and swallowed back the bile. Those horrid people. His face was probably terribly burned, which accounted for the multiple plastic surgeries he'd had to 'salvage' the pieces. His ear might be gone or part of his nose. Or maybe the skin was bubbled and warped. It explained the other 'damages.' And now he had to deal with further disfigurement to his face. Tears ran down her face. "You were in the hospital for surgery this week?"

"Y..." He cleared the lump from his throat. "Yes. I wouldn't have left you, but it would've been three more months to reschedule. The doctors argued that it would have probably turned into cancer by then. I came back as soon as I could. I didn't want to leave when you were so scared. I hoped the dog and your parents' visit would help."

She broke down in tears. He must have been so frightened, and she'd had no idea. Despite the pain and emotional torture he knew he'd face, he'd still been thinking about someone else. This kind, gentle man didn't deserve so much suffering. She only loved him more for his strength and beautiful heart. "I don't care about me. Why would you go through that all alone? If you didn't want me, why not take Trudy or Stevens?"

He voice was thick. "You needed them more than I did." His hand brushed away her tears. "I wanted you, but I was scared for you to see me. Especially now." He sniffled.

Her lip quivered. "Damn you and your big heart. Don't ever do something like that again." She sniffled. "In time you'll believe that scars don't matter to me. You have to remember that you already don't have a face to me, simply a blue eye and a hint of lips." She laid her hand over his heart. "This is what I've come to trust and see."

He drew a shakey breath. "Don't look up pictures. Even from before the accident. I don't want you to know what is gone."

She brought his hand to her lips. "Something tells me that what's gone wasn't nearly as beautiful as what is here." _I love you_. She wanted to say the words, but it might be too much and spook him. He'd just begun to trust her enough to speak about his face. She didn't care if he reciprocated, she simply wanted him to know he still deserved love.

His hand cupped her face, and she leaned into it, basking in his touch. He cleared his throat. "Enough about me. How have you been faring?" His fingers traveled around her head to comb through her hair.

"One more question. Do you have stitches or bandages that need tending?"

"Both, but-"

"I know not by me. I just want to know. The migraines will happen for awhile?"

"That's more than one question." He sounded calm and patient, more like himself.

"So sue me."

He chuckled, the sound so wonderful given everything he'd been through the last few days. "I get migraines if I'm severely stressed. I've been agonizing over you finding out about the surgery. I made myself sick."

"Was it worth it?" She laid back down and rested her head on his shoulder.

"Not so far." His arm wrapped around her to rest on her hip.

She gave his chest a soft swat. "Wretch."

He laughed and shifted as if he held his face. "Ow. Don't make me smile."

"Ohh." She started to reach up but remembered he probably wasn't wearing the mask. "Is it really painful?"

"Not as much as two days ago. Now, how have you been?"

She updated him on the past week. "Trudy and Pete are very good company. I see why you have them."

"Pete?"

"Stevens. There is far too much formality around here."

He chuckled. "Clearly." He squeezed her gently. "Climbing in bed during the night with an employer is far too formal."

Her face burned hot with embarrassment, and she started to pull away.

His arm tightened around her. "I'm teasing, Emma."

She decided to ignore that comment. "Your migraine must be fading," she mumbled.

A very faint glow of teeth flashed in a smile.

"And I got rid of the crutches," she grinned in the dark.

"Did you now? I didn't pay attention when I got home."

Prince barked faintly.

"I told Stevens to stick him in the basement. I won't have diarrhea smell all over the house." Disapproval came through in his voice.

"He's scared," she frowned.

"No."

"Are you going to throw your kids in the basement when they get the flu?"

"He's a dog," he said pointedly.

"Please?" she pouted.

"Why does it seem like a good thing that I can't see that pout?" He groaned. "Fine. But I'm not cleaning up the kitchen in the morning."

She got up and headed for the door. "Not with fresh surgical wounds you aren't!" Then she popped her head around the door again. "Convenient to have surgery when the dog has diarrhea. I've cleaned it six times today," she smiled in the dark.

That elicited a laugh from him, as hoped. "What can I say? I have good timing."

She smiled. "Do you have pain meds or anything?"

"Tramadol at seven o'clock. I think I left my bag at the front door."

She glanced at her watch in the hallway light. "Ten minutes. I'll get the dog and then bring it up." She took a step to go.

"Emma?"

Backtracking, she stepped into the doorway. The hall light only cast enough light to see his outline on the bed and the glow of a large bandage on the right side of his face. It broke her heart to see him like that.

"Thank you," he said, his voice slightly thick with emotion.

"I wouldn't be anywhere else," she replied softly. Then she went downstairs, nibbling a nail. Things had just officially changed between them. They'd crossed the line past employer/employee, but how far had they crossed? Misreading things as too far could damage it all irreparably. Thank heavens she hadn't opened her big mouth and professed her love. Getting away from him and thinking things through, it was clear he hadn't done anything a friend wouldn't. Males were males and flirted even with female friends. He had her in the 'friend zone.' Everyone knew that no one ever came out of that zone. She'd been the one to be too familiar with him and needed to be more careful. Having him as a friend was better than not having him at all, and she couldn't risk damaging that.

She found his suitcase sitting near the front door. A pill bottle was tucked in the front. Reading the directions, she dumped two pills in her hand and went to the kitchen for a glass of water.

"How is he?" Trudy asked from where she made supper at the counter.

Looking from her to Pete at the kitchen table, she sighed. "You both knew about the surgery, didn't you?"

They nodded. "He asked us to not go or say anything," Pete said in an apologetic tone.

"He seems more at ease now that it's out in the open, but he won't say anything about the accident other than there was a fire." Her eyes searched their faces. How much did they know about it? They kept their eyes diverted. "He said to let Prince in the kitchen. Would you bring him up? I'll take Mr. Port his meds." She had more questions than ever, but tonight was not the night for them.


	16. Chapter 16

**Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews, Hayden Avery, YazminXD, and Singingsilent! I'm glad the previous chapter evoked the emotions I tried so hard to put onto paper-it took me five hours to write and rewrite it just right. :) I anxiously await reviews to see if the readers liked a chapter or not so I know if I'm doing a decent job.**

* * *

Numbers, numbers, and more numbers taunted in the study two mornings later. These files grew messier with each day. They stretched out not only on the desk but now across half the study floor. The pattern that had seemingly been the answer on the first day was clearly not how the thief had operated on day ten. She dropped her head down on the desk and groaned. This was no longer exciting and fun, but irritating and hard. Getting paid a thousand dollars a day to figure this out didn't warrant whining, though.

"That bad?" Two large hands kneaded her shoulders.

"How did you even realize there's embezzeling?" She didn't move, his hands doing a marvelous job of working out the tension in her neck.

His hands inched their way down her back. "It was a hunch. I authorized reimbursement for a twenty-two dollar maintenance material receipt but happened to find it entered in the books as twenty-two dollars and seventy-five cents."

She shot up, shooting the chair backwards into him. "Sorry." Then she darted across the room to a file. Flipping it open, she spread out the receipts. Darting around the room, she collected several paint receipts. "Oh my god," she gasped. "It's so obvious!" She grabbed grocery receipts and spread them out on the carpet. "Oh, you're a genius!"

He laughed as his eye followed her darting around. "Okay, I'll take the compliment, although I have no idea what you're talking about."

Dropping into the chair, she banged out numbers on the keyboard. "Look at this." She pointed to the screen. "I arranged these by day, but they should be by category. Each maintenance item has an extra few cents, most of them around a dollar. Groceries are an extra five dollars, but only every other month. Look. Look at this one." She punched in a formula. "This furniture purchase was for an extra hundred." Then she froze. "Oh my god."

"What?"

She twisted around in the chair to look up at him. "Where are the taxes?"

His eye widened and he cursed under his breath. He turned and started to pull boxes aside to get to the ones underneath the stack.

She got up and caught his arm. "You probably aren't supposed to lift things for a few weeks after surgery."

"I can lift a box." He threw her a look and started to bend down.

"I know you _can_, but are you supposed to?" She grabbed his sleeve.

"It's twenty pounds at most." His eyelid shifted a bit like he cocked an eyebrow.

She slid between him and the boxes, a bit of a tight fit. "What weight limit did the doctor give?" Tucking her hands behind her back to keep the box from biting in, she leaned back to look up at him.

He scowled. "Are you my mother?"

"I hope not because that's sick if you kiss your mom's neck like that. What's the weight limit?"

He blinked. And then burst out laughing. "Ow," he whimpered and held his eye. "Stop making me laugh," he chuckled.

She couldn't help but smile. "Then stop being stubborn. You lift nothing if you aren't going to behave. Sit."

He frowned. "I'm the boss."

"Not when you're acting like a child." She turned him around and pushed him toward the chair. "Sit and behave."

The man sat, looking none too pleased.

She hefted aside file boxes, working up a bit of a sweat.

"Well this is chivalry at its finest," he grumbled.

Pulling up the sleeves of her sweater, she bent down to grab another box. "The Feminist Movement already happened a hundred years ago," she grunted. She tried to lift a particularly heavy box that wouldn't budge.

"If you want, I can take you to the graveyard in town to prove my point."

"What?" she panted and turned to look at him.

He propped his elbow on the armrest and rested his chin in his palm. "The Feminist Movement women. They're all dead. From lifting boxes."

He said it so straightfaced that she snorted a laugh. That made both of them start laughing.

Holding his face, he whimpered, "Would you stop?" His shoulders still shook with laughter.

"I'm not the one cracking jokes," she smiled and wiped her eyes. "Besides, I'm supposed to be working. Why are you in here?" She gave up and sat on top of the box.

"I got bored. I'm sick of being in bed. I don't feel bad enough to be in bed, but the thought of working today makes my head hurt."

She smiled. "So you're gonna pester me so I don't get any work done?"

"I'm the one paying your salary."

"You know your business taxes are probably screwed up from the last few years. The IRS is probably on their way here right now."

He leaned back in the chair, stretched his legs out, and crossed his ankles. He seemed to be more and more comfortable letting his guard down. "They can arrest me. I'll tell them my pretty little accountant is working the books." He winked, revealing he wouldn't really.

She blushed over the fact that he'd called her 'pretty.' "Why would you drag me into it?"

"To have company in the jail cell," he smiled.

"Oh, so I'm back to being your entertainment." She rolled her eyes with a smile. "Well, Mr. Bored, I have a question for you." Pulling out the unopened envelope from the desk, she handed it to him and pointed to 'Dr.' Then she leaned against the desk and folded her arms, waiting for an answer.

He tossed it on the desk and looked at her. "What do you think it is?" When she frowned, he said, "You're intelligent. I'm curious what your theory is." He leaned back in the chair and folded his hands over his flat stomach.

"Alright. You seem to be a business man. You went to the military to be a SEAL in return for free college. You have a PhD in business or something."

He raised an eyebrow. "Hm. Interesting theory, and not too far off. But no PhD."

Her eyebrows rose. "A doctor?"

"I haven't practiced in years, obviously, but I keep my license up."

She sat on the desk, ready to listen.

He cracked a smile. "I did some time in the military, and they paid for med school. I couldn't afford it myself otherwise, and I was an arrogant shit and quite the ladies man. I needed the reality check." Then a bitter laugh escaped him. "Be careful because karama's a bitch."

She winced. He must've been an attractive man. Plenty of attractive teenage guys were arrogant, but some of them outgrew it. Clearly he had in the military. But the cruel irony to then become so disfigured that people labeled him a beast...

"Anyways, a fellowship in cardiology, and now I'm here."

He needed something to lift his spirits. "Hm. I suppose that's impressive." She suppressed a smile. "The rich doctor thing and all."

A good-natured smile tugged at his lips. "Yes well, it's not enough to make women bang down the door."

Nope, going down that road would lead to him feeling self-conscious. Time for a different route. "You seem like the gastroenterologist type."

"Why?"

"Because you're so full of crap, _Mr_. Port," she smiled.

He burst out laughing and held the side of his face. "I see you caught me."

Her smiled faded. "Trudy slipped the first morning I was here. Why did you have them stop calling you 'doctor'?"

The gleam of teeth disappeared, and he seemed suddenly serious. His eye looked away. "Because I didn't want you scared if you had heard about the accident in the paper. Maybe you wouldn't put the pieces together that way."

She frowned. "I don't remember hearing about any fire and a doctor." He looked incredibly uncomfortable, so she changed the topic. "Even a cardiologist doesn't make this much money." Her hand swept the room.

"If you live off cardio patents and wise investments, it does."

Cocking her head, she searched his face to see if he was serious. "Is that why you travel? To go work on patents?"

He nodded. "I have a business associate who stands in my stead for in-person meetings and relays information to me."

She pointed at the boxes under her. "Not this one, I hope."

"No, someone completely separate."

A bit of a vague response, but he was also a bit of a private man. She let it drop with a glance at her watch and hopped up. "Your med is due." She held out her hand to him.

Taking her hand, he pushed himself up. "I can handle getting it myself, you know."

"It never hurt anyone to get a little babying." He didn't let go of her hand, so she kept hold and pulled him along.

"I'm not sure why I was so anxious to get home to a bossy nurse," he teased.

"Yes, you have it so rough having someone make sure you're taking pain meds on time." He didn't say anything, so she glanced back at him when they entered the foyer. He'd shut down; she felt it. Somehow she'd tripped over a sore spot. Then it dawned that something had happened at the hospital either this time or at the time of the accident. She stopped and wrapped an arm around his. "Jason?" she said softly and laid a hand on his chest to get his attention. His eye shifted to her and focused, as if he'd been lost in memories. "If you'd let me do more to help, I will. Scars are simply skin; they do not make up the man."

He squared his shoulders, as if trying to hide the hurt. "The nurse was nervous doing bandage changes. She tried not to show it, but she hated it."

The past probably made him hypersensitive to reactions, but people were also cruel when perhaps they didn't mean to be. "Jason-"

He let go of her hand and walked toward the kitchen.

She watched his back. His physique certainly excelled, and the little of his face she had seen was attractive. Why could people see no farther than skin deep? In time, everyone's looks faded; his had simply been taken prematurely and to a greater extent. But, what if people saw only the heart? Then he'd be known as the most beautiful creature alive. She'd barely scratched the surface with him and knew there were so many more wonderful things yet to discover.

She went into the kitchen to see him leaning a hand down on the counter near the sink and holding his face. "Does it hurt?" She hurried over and set a hand on his back. His eye was closed in pain.

"This incessant headache flares up."

"Is it alright for you to be wearing this mask? It's probably keeping the surgical site too warm and migh lead to infection." She got a glass of water and dumped out two pills in her hand.

He looked at her from the corner of his eye.

"What?" She held out the pills

"Are you done smothering?" He took one of the pills and the glass of water.

"No. Don't you want two?" She frowned and held it out to him again.

"I'm supposed to be down to one."

She rolled he eyes. "But it says two if needed. Don't be stubborn."

"One is fine." He didn't move.

She sighed. "Really? You won't even drink when I'm around?"

His eye shot daggars.

"Jason," she said patiently. "This is building up in your head to be a huge monster. There are hundreds of burn victims..." She bit off her words and closed her eyes for a moment to calm down. She shouldn't push. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to undermine what you're feeling." She searched his eye so full of anger and betrayal, and set a hand on his arm. "I just wish I knew how to earn your trust. You're so alone in this, but you don't need to be."

"And what good does it do for you to see?!" he exploded, making her jump. "So you know what horrors hide under this mask? So you can have nightmares and be revolted when I touch you?!" he shouted, the pain as palpable as if it was her own.

Tears welled in her eyes to hear how much he disgusted even himself. "Jason, it wouldn't be like that-"

He slammed his hand down on the counter, making the dishes in the sink clatter. "What?" he hissed. "You want to know I'm so deformed I can't drink from a glass without dribbling like a baby? That I have to eat like an animal?"

"Stop it!" Tears ran down her face and she reached for him so he'd stop cutting himself like this.

He stepped back out of reach and roared, "Then what do you want?!"

"For you to let me love you!" She froze. That was the wrong thing to say. Not now when he was so hurt and angry.

"Jesus," he said in disgust and closed his eyes as he turned away. Leaning his hands on the edge of the sink, he bowed his head. "I'm not a goddamn puppy that needs rescuing," he said quietly.

"Jason," she sniffled and set a hand on his arm.

He jerked his arm away.

Letting her hand fall, she didn't even try to stop the tears. "I've never seen you as something that needs rescuing. I've been the one leaning on you, learning to trust men again because of you," she whispered. He didn't move. So she silently walked out and stopped at the door to look back at him, wishing he'd turn around instead of push her away.

He snatched the glass in front of him and flung it into the sink. It shattered with a loud crash. Then he leaned his hands down on the counter and bowed his head again. That image of him shattered her heart in as many pieces as the glass.


	17. Chapter 17

**Author's Note: I researched medical journals to write this chapter, so hopefully it's mostly accurate.**

* * *

She didn't see him the rest of the day. Probably best for to avoid him anyways if he felt that angry yet. But it took a lot of strength not to go to him. It was hard to concentrate on work and not worry if he was alright.

The clock struck four. She laid in bed and stared at the dark ceiling, turning their conversation over and over in her head. Guilt chewed at her conscience. Three hours of research online about how to help burn victims heal from their emotional trauma showed that she had approached the topic all wrong. She'd probably come across as blaming him and pressuring him into being vulnerable when he wasn't ready.

Getting up, she threw on her robe and patted down the hall in bare feet toward his room. The door was open and it was dark. "Jason?" The poor man would probably bite her head off for coming in during the middle of the night when he already wasn't feeling up to snuff. She tiptoed over to the bed and would let him sleep if he wasn't awake. Setting her hand on the cool cotton sheets, she patted around. "Jason?" The bed felt cold and empty. Lifting a corner of the curtain to let the moonlight flow in, it revealed an empty bed. It didn't look like he'd even slept in it. She frowned and went downstairs. Surely he wasn't still up at this hour.

A sweep of the downstairs didn't disclose him either. She went back upstairs and peeked in Pete's room. Trudy stood in the room with him, only the full moon providing light. "Trudy?" She turned on the light to see them both looking worried. "Is everything alright?"

"Yes, Ms. Hoplin." Pete's face told a different story.

Trudy wrung her hands, with the curlers in her hair disheveled. "No. Mr. Port took ill and had Stevens fly him to the hospital."

She stepped into the room. "What do you mean 'took ill'?" Her heart picked up speed. Ill so close to surgery likely meant some kind of infection.

"He took a fever around midnight, and his eye started paining him. He wouldn't let me look," she fretted.

"He let me. It was swollen and red. I'm not a doctor, but some kind of bad infection was brewing," Pete said. "Mr. Port called the doctor, who said to take him to the hospital. The doctor said something about maybe surgery again. He was worried about it getting to the brain or something. Mr. Port looked terribly pale. I took him by helicopter, and he demanded I return home. He ordered me not to wake you."

"Get your stuff on because you're taking me there." She turned to go get dressed.

"Ms. Hoplin," Pete said.

She turned and pointed at him. "I don't care what he said. If you don't fly me, I'm taking the car." Then she hurried to her room, worry eating at her stomach.

As soon they pulled up to the hospital, she jumped out of the car and threw over her shoulder, "I'll call you." Then she slammed the door and ran inside, ignoring her ankle protesting the jostling. She ran up to the reception desk. "Room number for Jason Port, please."

A woman older than dirt smiled. "Port? P-o-r-t?"

Oh god, she didn't have time for this. "Yes. Jason." Adrenaline made the room seem sweltering. She pulled off her parka and slung her purse on her shoulder again.

"Let me see, let me see." The woman was the slowest typist in the world.

She danced on her toes. "Can you hurry, please? He might be going into emergency surgery."

"Oh. If he came through ER, I have to look in a different screen."

She groaned. Come on, come on. Her fingers drummed on the desk.

A thousand minutes later, the woman said, "Room 314. The elevators are straight back and-"

"Thank you!" She ran off, not waiting for her to finish. She jumped into the elevator with a bunch of doctors just before the door closed.

"In a hurry?" one of them smiled.

"Yeah." She hit the button for the third floor without looking at him.

"Do you need help finding anything?"

"No, just going to the three hundreds."

"Then you want floor four."

She looked at him for the first time as he pushed the button for her. He was a young, handsome doctor about her own age. "Thank you."

His brown eyes met hers. "Of course. Do you know where you're going? I have a few minutes before rounds and can take you."

"Oh, no, I'm okay. Thanks." A couple of the doctors elbowed each other.

"Alright. I'm Tom Parks, by the way." He held out his hand.

She shook it, half watching the floor numbers tick away. "Emma-" The elevator dinged for fourth floor. "Thanks!" She ran out the door and followed the signs.

A nurse stopped her at the surgical unit. "Visiting hours are over, miss."

"I know, but there's someone-"

"Miss, I have to ask you to leave."

"No, please. He was just admitted a couple hours ago-" She danced on her toes trying to look at room numbers around the nurse. The other nurses at the station started to look at her.

"You need to leave. You can come back at seven."

"My husband was admitted for an eye exenteration infection," she blurted out. "Please, they mentioned surgery and maybe a brain infection.

The nurse sighed. "Stay here. What's his name?"

"Jason Port." She nibbled on her nail as the nurse went to the desk. She could make a dash for it, but security would probably throw her out.

The nurse talked to another and then looked something up in the computer. Then she walked back over. "What's your name? We don't have anyone listed as an emergency contact."

"Emma." She dug out her wallet and showed a driver's license. "We just got married, so I didn't change my name here yet." She'd probably burn in hell for lying, if Jason didn't rip her head off first.

"Just a minute." The nurse went down the hall and disappeared into a room.

She counted doors. That must be 314. Now it was just hoping Jason would go along with the story and not kick her out.

The nurse walked back. "He said for you to go home."

Her heart dropped, and almost audibly breaking. Surgery and on watch for a brain infection, and he wanted to go through it alone. She blinked back the tears and brushed at her eyes. He must be so incredibly angry still. She nodded. "We had a fight last night. Can I just sit in a waiting room? Just so I'm here if he changes his mind?"

The nurse's face softened. "Of course. It's right over here." She escorted her to a small room with only a few chairs.

"Thank you." She dropped into a chair and set her coat and purse down. Then she leaned her elbows on her knees and held her head. This was going to be an awful few hours not knowing if he was in surgery, in pain, dragged under a fever...her stomach rolled. She took some deep breaths. This was just the first five minutes of how many hours.

"Mrs. Port?"

Her head popped up.

The nurse stood there. "I mentioned to him that you're in here, and he said for you to come in. He doesn't let us turn on the lights unless we absolutely must to clean the surgical site. He asked me to keep the room dark for you to come in." She led the way down the hall.

She nodded and brushed away the tears of relief. "He's self-conscious about the burns."

The nurse nodded but not before a slight shudder ran through her. They stopped at his door.

Her mouth fell open in shock, and her feet screeched to a halt. The woman hadn't really just shuddered at the thought of Jason's face...

"Right here." Then the nurse left.

"Emma?"

Her head whipped around to see the dark room behind a half-closed door. She slipped inside and shut the door, more for privacy than the dark. Dropping her things in a chair, she rushed over to the bed, the moonlight through the curtains casting only enough light to see vague outlines.

"We're married now?"

Biting her lip, she hesitated. "I'm sorry. They wouldn't let me see you."

"I told her to have you go home," he said, sounding confused.

She took his hand that was a dark contrast against the white sheets. "Oh god, you're burning up." She needed to stay focused because he probably wasn't going to give her much time. "I know I hurt you and you're still upset, but you should know that someone is here if you need anyone. I woke up and went into your room to apologize for being so insensitive. I looked for you and then found Trudy and Pete. Don't be mad at him, I told him to bring me," she rushed out and then bit her lip, waiting for him to throw her out.

"I'm not upset. There's no point in you sitting in a chair all night when you could be home in bed."

She sat on the edge of the bed, her eyes beginning to adjust to the darkness. Everything began to take on a grayish hue. He wore a hospital gown and tape covered the back of his other hand where an IV hung overhead. She diverted her eyes to keep from seeing his face when he didn't want it.

"You can see it, can't you?" He sounded so weary and heartbroken.

"I think I could. I'm starting to adjust to the darkness."

"Would you pull a chair up instead?"

She did and sat down near his chest so she wouldn't have view of his right side. But she kept her eyes diverted, not feeling right to look at even the unscarred side of his face when he felt so nervous.

He held out his hand and she took it. His fingers laced with hers and held tight. The heart monitor started sounding like a symphony.

"Jason, I don't have to be in here," she said. Coming and causing him more stress wasn't good for him.

He reached up and pushed a button on the machine to silence it. "This is so pathetic," he whispered. "I haven't been this scared since I fell off my bike and had to get stitches when I was four."

Leaning forward to rest her elbows on the bed, she held his hand with both of hers and cradled her cheek against it. She kept her head turned away from him. "Jason, I came here to help, not make it worse. What did the doctor say?"

He released a shakey breath. "They can't operate until the fever is under control. The transplant didn't take, so they're going to remove it before the infection spreads to the brain. A surgical dressing will act as the skin until it regrows."

"How long do you have to be here?"

"They're still debating. One surgeon said five days, given the infection."

"Is it alright if I come at night? Pete said you let him check the dressing, so maybe he can stay days?"

"There's no need-"

"Stop. That's not an option." She brushed a kiss over his fingers. How was it possible to worry about someone so much? To feel this much love? She wanted to see his whole face, simply to put his fears to rest. To show him the beauty of love being blind.

"Emma?" he whispered.

"Hm?"

His voice shook. "Can you look? Just at this side? It'll be hard to avoid it because you were right-I can't wear the mask. Not for the next month or two to avoid infection."

Her stomach churned at the thought of her being the cause of this. "Did it get infected because of the mask?"

"No, but it might have eventually. With the warmer months coming too..."

"Looking only at this side, what is the worst you think will happen?" she whispered. She needed to know his fears as much as he needed to realize they weren't truth.

Silence. "The other side will seem so much more grotesque, if you ever see it." His voice cracked.

"Jason, I don't understand how this fear was born. May I look up what some of these names are that you've been called? I don't know how to help if I don't understand."

"Do you have your phone?" He swallowed hard.

She got up and fetched it from her purse. Then she gave it to him before resuming her seat.

He handed the phone back. "Worse has been said to my face when I first went in public without a mask."

It was a link to a newspaper in California. The comments section...it screamed.

_A man with no face. How gross._

_The picture should be banned. He shouldn't be allowed in public to terrify kids._

_Monster._

_Is this real or one of those alien photos? It's disgusting. The best sci-fi I've seen._

_I'd kill myself if I looked like that._

_Poor thing. No one can ever see past a face like that but a mother._

_Can you say 'freak'?_

The list went on and on, but she flung the phone down on the bed in disgust without reading any more. She swallowed hard, trying not to retch at the cruelty as she stared at the bed. They didn't know him. What was the article about? Did they even read it? Her hand slipped into his, and a tear glided down her cheek. Her eyes slowly raised to look at him, already knowing he was beautiful. His trim waist under the sheet led up to a chest that's heartbeat was as familiar as her own. Those strong shoulders that carried burdens with grace and dignity...

Just then, the light flipped on. She whipped around in her chair just in time to see the nurse look at him and jump five feet. He must not have a bandage on.

It was the last straw. She shot up and advanced on the nurse, who was five inches taller and probably fifty pounds heavier. "Get out," she seethed.

"But-"

"No, get out!" she snapped, almost wanting to slap the nurse.

The woman looked a bit frightened and stumbled back.

She flipped off the lightswitch and slammed the door in the nurse's face. Hard. Then she leaned her hands against the door and bowed her head, letting the anger burn itself out.

"Emma, she didn't know what to expect."

"Don't." Her chest heaved as she tried to calm down.

"You can't assault every nurse or doctor who reacts. It's instinct to be frightened. You would be too if you saw me." Compassion flowed through his voice. Him. When he'd just been humiliated in a way no human should be.

"If I ever do that to you, don't ever speak to me again."

"Emma," he sighed. "You can't change how things are."

"Watch me." She walked out and slammed the door shut to keep away prying eyes.

She stormed down to the nurses's station to see several of them talking with the one she'd kicked out. They eyed her, clearly she and Jason the topic of interest.

The nurse turned. "Ma'm, I'm so sorry. I didn't know."

"Then maybe you'd better read your charts first!" she barked. Her eyes scanned the four other nurses there, who looked flustered. "Who can cover for her?"

A young nurse, probably barely out of college, timidly raised her hand. "That'd be my section."

"Whatever she was coming to do, you do it."

An older nurse came over. "I'm the supervising nurse. Is there a problem here?"

She turned. "Oh, there's a big problem. Your nurse here didn't bother to read the full chart, so when she walked into the room, she had a strong reaction to seeing my husband's burned face. He deals with enough humiliation; he doesn't need it from medical staff too."

"I understand you're upset..."

"Mrs. Port."

"Mrs. Port. I'm sorry this happened. Are you requesting a different nurse?"

"Yes."

"Stef." She turned to the young nurse. "Please get up to speed and then attend to Mr. Port."

The poor girl looked intimidated but nodded and logged into the computer to read the chart.

"Thank you."

"Again, I'm sorry," Jason's attending nurse said. The woman did look remorseful.

Her temper calmed a bit. "This exenteration now is really hard on him, and I'm sensitive to how people react. His chart needs to be flagged or something so staff know what to expect instead of him being humiliated each time someone comes in."

"Yes," the supervisor said. "I can flag his chart so that pops up when it's opened. Stef here is very good with patients. I think you and Mr. Port will be happy with his care."

She nodded. "Thank you." Then she walked down the hall and waited outside the door for the nurse.

The girl looked scared of her when she arrived.

"Sorry, I kind of overreacted."

She seemed to relaxed. "No, it's perfectly understandable. He needs a different bag of antibiotics now that we got the culture results back, and probably the wound cleaned again. His thigh wound is doing fine on it's own, so I won't do anything with that if it still looks good."

She nodded. "The left side of his face is severely burned-"

The nurse nodded. "Yes, I saw everything in the chart, like the reconstruction of his ear is incomplete and-"

"Okay, good." She cut off the nurse, not knowing if Jason would want her to know all of this. "I'm going to grab a coffee and be back in a minute." That sounded like a plausible excuse for not being in the room when the lights were on.

"Take your time. It can be draining watching a loved one be in the hospital. I'll keep an eye on him."

This girl seemed kind already. She nodded and hung around in the hall when Stef went in and flipped on the light, just to be sure he was in good hands.

"Hello, Mr. Port. I'm Stef. I'll be your nurse until six tonight." It didn't sound like she batted an eyelash seeing his face. "How are you feeling?"

"Hello. Did the surgeon decide how soon I can go?" He sounded slightly anxious.

"You're ready to leave me already?" she teased.

"Yeah." The smile was apparent in his voice, and it made her smile.

"The doctor comes in a few minutes to start rounds. I'll check with him. We got the lab results back, and the doctor is switching your antibiotics. I'll just switch the IV bags here, and then let's check how your surgical site is doing. Are you having pain still?"

"Did my wife go somewhere?"

She frowned. Either he was avoiding Stef's question or worried if she'd left.

"She ran down to get some coffee quick. On a scale of one to ten, with ten excruciating, how is the pain?"

"If I say 'one,' do I get to go home soon?"

Stef laughed. "Coy, but no."

He sounded so serious. "They said there wouldn't be much feeling there anymore. And with the burn scar tissue..."

"Is it pretty sore?" She sounded empathetic.

"When..." He seemed to hesitate, and it hurt to hear him reluctant to tell anyone he was in pain. "Postsurgery, it hurt almost as bad as when I was in the burn unit. The nurse said it wasn't possible, that I probably was killing my pain threshold because I'd been taking ibuprofen almost daily for the cyst pain the last few months. I don't know if it hurts too much or not."

Oh god, that's why he wouldn't take the second tramadol yesterday.

"Everyone has different pain thresholds, just naturally. I can tell you that if any man had to go through labor, he'd be begging to be shot. Yet women pop out babies all the time."

That got a chuckle out of him.

"Whether you are or aren't lowering your pain threshold, you still feel pain. Your job is to tell me what you feel, and the doctor and I will figure out what we can do to make you comfortable. If there is a drug tolerance building up, then we'll figure out how to help get that straightened out. You don't worry about what amount of pain is 'normal.' How would you rate it?"

She could kiss that nurse, who was so good with him.

"With the migraine, it hovers around a seven, sometimes more."

"Migraine?"

"Yes. It started after the surgery and hasn't let up. The doctor said to expect migraines, and the postsurgical nurse said it was normal."

"OK. I'll call the doctor about that, and we'll see what we can do."

"Thank you."

"I'll be right back, Mr. Port." The nurse flipped off the light and tore out of the room and down the hall.

She followed the nurse, her heart beating faster with each step.

The nurse was on the phone and talking fast in medical jargon. She was so shaken up after hearing 'brain infection' that she couldn't follow the rest. The girl spotted her and slapped a pen and paper on the counter. "Alright. Yes, Doctor." She hung up. "Mrs. Port," she said, as calm as could be. "I need you to sign for a CT scan for your husband. We just need to rule out a cerebrospinal fluid leakage, which can occur after exenteration."

"Wait, you think the fluid around his brain is leaking?" That would explain his migraines. And it wasn't good.

"We want to make sure because how we treat the infection would change."

"Let me go talk to him. He's a doctor." She grabbed the papers and ran. "Jason!" She darted into his room. "They want a signature for a CT. The nurse thinks you have a CSF leak." She thrust the papers at him and darted for the lights.

He cursed. A pen scratched. "Done."

She flipped off the lights and went back over to get the paper. "This is serious, isn't it?"

"Well, it probably means the infection is in the brain, which explains why the fever is climbing and the headache is getting worse."

While he got the CT, she updated Trudy and Pete.

The doctor came in his empty room where she paced. "Mrs. Port?"

Her heart stopped beating and tears welled in her eyes. It was never good when doctors sounded solemn.

"I'm Dr. Munstein, a neurosurgeon on staff here. Let's have a seat."

Oh god. 'Have a seat' was code for bad news. Why else would a neurosurgeon be here She practically dropped into the chair when her knees buckled.

He sat across from her. "Mrs. Port, your husband has fluid leaking that normally surrounds the brain. It seems to be coming from a small hole in the bone from where the muscles were cut away in the eye socket. From what I can tell on the scan, it will be easy to repair. The risk here is if the infection has reached his brain."

Her hands shook as she tried to absorb all of this. "But you can treat it, right?"

"Yes. He's already given consent for the surgery, and he's being prepped now. While we're in there, we're going to check if the infection has reached his brain. The good news is this hasn't been going on for long. Just because of the infection risk, he'll be admitted to the ICU after surgery. It's just a precaution, I don't want it to scare you." His pager beeped, and he turned it off. "They're ready in surgery. He asked me to pass along the message that he doesn't want you fretting." He set his hand on over her shaking one in her lap. "This sounds scary, but it's a simple surgery. I'll be working with the eye surgeon. I'll be back out in two or three hours. The nurse will be by to show you the waiting room. There's a screen that will show the progress time of the surgery. He'll be the only number on the board, 9374."

"Thank you."

He left.

It didn't really sink in, everything moving in slow motion like a dream. She pulled out her phone and dialed.

"Thank the lambs, what's going on?" Trudy answered.

"Trudy?" The tears welled and her voice broke. "He's in surgery." The frightened sobs bubbled up. "The fluid from his brain is leaking, and they don't know if the infection is in his brain," she hiccupped.

Trudy sounded scared. "We're comin', Emma."


	18. Chapter 18

**Author's Note: The music from Forbidden Friendship song in How to Train Your Dragon was so perfect for the later part of this chapter. The gentle wonder and discovery in the melody is what got me. I hope you listen to it-you'll know what part of the chapter I'm talking about if you hear the music. If this was a movie, that's the song I'd want for this scene. :)**

* * *

The room spun. Trudy was crying. She could see the doctor's mouth move, but she couldn't hear what he said. Bleeding. Transfusion. Brain infection and swelling. Pete grabbed her arm and plopped her in a chair.

The neurosurgeon squatted before her. His voice sounded tingy. "Mrs. Port, he's tolerating this amazingly well. Things were worse than we thought when we got in there, but he's young and strong. He's on aggressive antibiotics, and he should wake up from the anesthesia soon. We're monitoring him closely. He's stable, we just want to give a one-pint transfusion to keep him in tip-top shape because of the infection. He'd be able to handle the blood loss fine otherwise. Some families like to know where the blood is coming from, and this isn't an emergency, so that's why I'm offering if one of you want to donate. He's AB positive, so practically anyone can donate to him." He looked at all of them.

"I'm A," Trudy said.

"I'm B," Pete offered.

"I'm B positive too," she said, her voice shaky.

He asked several questions to rule out any problems with donating. Trudy was on medication that ruled her out. Pete looked at her.

"May I?" she asked.

Pete nodded. "I can be backup."

"You're certain there's no chance of pregnancy?" the doctor asked as he led her down the hall.

"No."

"Are you certain? This wouldn't be safe during pregnancy."

She was about to burn for another lie. "No. Between my car accident and his health problems, there's been abstinence." Her face felt warm.

He didn't seem to question the legitimacy of their farce marriage. "Alright. Here is the lab. They'll do a fingerstick to check iron levels and everything first. I'll be by to check on him when he wakes up." He started to go.

"Doctor?"

He turned.

Her lip quivered and she held out a hand.

His eyes grew misty, and he clasped her hand. "It's gonna be okay." Then he left.

She walked into Jason's new room a few minutes later to see Pete pacing and Trudy sitting in a chair near the foot of the bed. He laid in a bed with the unburned side of his face up but turned away from the door. The strong, steady beating of his heart echoed in the room.

"The nurse said he asked for his burn to be covered after surgery," Pete said. "He woke up for a moment but fell back asleep almost instantly."

She set down her coat and purse in a chair, her eyes not leaving Jason. The morning sun shined through the window. Taking slow steps toward him, her heart beat fast. The short hospital gown sleeves left his arms bare for her to see for the first time. His fingers were long and elegant, with chisled veins leading up to well-defined forearms with a sprinkling of dark hair, and large biceps. His shoulders strained the hospital gown and melted up to a sprinkling of chest hair peeking up over the top and then into a strong neck. Then her eyes glided up to his face, her heart beating slow and steady. She took a deep breath, ready to see the man she loved.

A square jawline, with a hint of a five o'clock shadow, molded so perfectly to match his strong, calm personality. A thin upper lip and full lower lip whispered to be kissed. Long, black lashes rested on high cheekbones. A toned muscle line from his cheekbone to chin spoke of dimples during a smile. His straight nose led up to a strong brow, with a perfectly deepset eye under a black eyebrow. His black hair, just long enough to have a slight wave, beckoned her fingers to run through it. No woman could argue he didn't look like a hearthrob from this side.

Her fingers glided down the side of his face, learning the contours and marveling at the smoothness of his skin. Even the light scratch of his stubble was wonderful. She slowly sat on the edge of the bed, drinking in every line that had been hidden these past weeks. This was the man who had stolen her heart, and he was more beautiful than she'd imagined. Because she'd first seen his heart.

Gently cupping his face to turn the surgical site up so it wouldn't swell, the soft cotton bandages covered the entire other side of his face. They stretched from high into his hair, down the middle of his forehead, around his nose, over part of his lips, to his neck, and disappeared under the hospital gown. Less than a half inch of warped, shiny lips peeked out from under the bandage. His lower lip pulled down slightly too much, as if taught, scarred skin tugged it. Downturned lips would explain his difficulty with drinking. But they still looked perfect.

He stirred slightly and sighed. His throat convulsed as he swallowed. She let go of the right side of his face but gently stroked his left cheek with the back of her knuckles. His eyelid slowly fluttered and fought to open. Then his gorgeous blue eye opened and focused on her.

"Hi, Jason," she whispered, her smile reflecting the love in her heart.


	19. Chapter 19

**Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews! I'm so happy you're liking this story more than the Disney one! I love getting your reviews, Milorian Fairy Lover, Singingsilent, YasminXD, and Hayden Avery! I'm pouring everything into this, and trying to make it the best story I've written yet. :D PS - Singingsilent, I can only write heros if I fall in love with them too, so you aren't alone. :)**

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He blinked slowly, and his fingers shifted slightly in his left hand.

She held his hand. "You just had surgery. Do you hurt?" She spoke slowly, giving him time to process the words.

"I'll grab the nurse," Pete said and left.

His eye shifted around the room, and he swallowed again. His lips parted and a soft grunt escaped him.

Stroking his cheek to get his attention, she spoke slowly again when his eye landed on her. "You're in the hospital. The anesthesia is still wearing off. I'm Emma. Trudy and Stevens are here too." He looked groggy.

The nurse came in with a smile. "You're awake." She looked at his vitals on the screen.

"Is it alright he can't speak yet?" Trudy got up and came over.

"Yes. We'll put on oxygen and help flush that out. Some people wake up slowly." She got out an oxygen mask and reached toward him. "I'm going to put this over your nose and mouth. It'll help you feel better."

He turned his head away a bit and blinked slow, his brow furrowing a bit.

Jason didn't want his face touched. She held out her hand and took the mask and held it up a few inches from his face. "We'll hold it up, alright?" She slowly set it over his nos and mouth.

He tried to turn his head away, his movements slow and jerky.

She held on the mask and stroked his left cheek to help keep him still. "It's alright. This will make you feel better."

His eye slowly drifted shut and his breathing slowed.

"Are you alright holding it on? I'll go page the doctor that he's waking up."

She nodded and the nurse left.

Trudy and Pete hovered on the other side of the bed. "He's frightened. We shouldn't have ever let him go have those plastic surgeries alone, don'tcha know," Trudy sniffled.

Closing her eyes, she held back the stinging tears. Oh god, he'd been alone for everything. "He's not alone anymore," she whispered.

A few minutes later, he stirred again. "Emma," he mumbled.

"I'm right here." She touched his cheek and still held on the mask.

His eye fluttered open, and he looked so tired. His hand dragged across the bed to rest on her knee, and then his eye drifted shut. "Tired," he sighed.

"I know. Go to sleep." The doctor should be here soon. Was it normal to take this long to wake up? Maybe some of it was the brain swelling. He didn't feel so hot at least. Her eyes followed his heartbeat on the screen. It slowed down for a few minutes and then started to pick up. Then it raced and he startled hard. His eye flew open, wide and frightened.

She startled but kept the mask on him and caught his hand. "Shhh, it's alright. I think you were dreaming."

He panted hard, his eye darting around the room. Then his eye landed on her. His hand reached up and clasped around her wrist, as if to feel if she was real. Then he closed his eye in relief and held his forehead.

"Does your head hurt?"

Dropping his hand, he looked at her and caught her upper arm. With more strength than he should possess at the moment, he tugged her close. She tumbled into his arms. "I dreamed I didn't get to you in time." His voice was scratchy but otherwise sounded normal. "I couldn't get in the window."

Gaston. He'd dreamed about trying to rescue her. His hug almost crushed her, and she had to push on his chest a little for him to relax his grip. "I'm alright." She dropped the oxygen mask and wrapped her arms around him. Oh god, it was good to feel his strength. Her arms tightened around him, the fear fleeting out of her heart as his strength seeped in it's stead. He'd beat this brain infection. He'd get better soon.

"Stevens?" He sounded like he didn't believe his eye.

She sat back, although he kept ahold of her hand. He looked confused to see everyone. "You scared us." Biting her lip, she struggled to keep her voice steady. He looked at her with a furrowed brow; a slight crease formed by his eyebrow. "You lost blood during surgery, and they found some brain swelling and a brain infection."

"Ms. Hoplin gave her own blood." Pete nodded at the IV pole.

His eye followed to the blood bag hanging. Then he looked at her, his eye softening and heart so clearly melting. "Emma, you didn't need to do that."

How odd it was to hear his voice coming from a face she didn't recognize. He had such an expressive face. This was so different seeing something besides a black mask. How much had their misunderstandings come from simply not seeing how he felt? Had he cared more than she'd thought? He seemed so much more...real. His hand cupped her face as he held her eyes. She didn't see the bandage or paleness or hospital gown; simply him. Slowly leaning foward...

"I have good news!" The doctor came bustling in.

She shot to her feet with burning cheeks. He didn't let go of her hand, and she glanced at him. A soft smile curled up the corner of his mouth as he looked at her. Butterflies tickled in her belly. She looked away, her face on fire. Apparently he knew she'd been about to kiss him.

"We were able to save most of the skin transplant, so the bandage should be off in about ten days. The brain infection is already responding to antibiotics, if your fever dropping is any indication. Any headache?"

He looked at the doctor dryly. "Feel free to report in front of everyone."

The doctor looked around, apparently surprised to see Trudy and Stevens. "My apologies. I-"

"It's fine," Jason sighed. "The headache is better." Clearly he didn't want to be here.

"Good, good. I'd say let's do a spinal tap tomorrow and see from there. If everything keeps going well, we'll have you out of here in three days." The doctor typed some notes one-handed on a laptop he held.

When Jason heaved a sigh, she looked at him. He looked more and more irritated by the second. "They have to make sure the infection is cleared," she said and squeezed his hand. He didn't say anything but dropped his gaze on the bed. His shoulders slumped a bit. She frowned. He seemed so sad.

"Any questions?" The doctor looked at him.

He just shook his head and stared at the sheets.

Sitting in bed wasn't good for his spirits. "Um, I do," she said. Everyone looked at her. "When can he get up and walk around?"

The doctor blinked. "Well, a nurse will be in within a few minutes to get you up and moving because of blood clot risks with surgery. If you don't have dizziness or anything, I'd say you're free to walk the floor this afternoon after the transfusion is complete."

When the doctor departed, he said, "Stevens and Ms. Van Hoodie, thank you for coming, but you should go home. Ms. Hoplin should go home and get some sleep."

She frowned and looked at him. His tone was firm and his face expressionless. But the loneliness lingered in his eye. She sat on the edge of the bed and held his gaze. "I'm not going home, and I'm not Ms. Hoplin," she spoke softly but with conviction.

His eyebrow rose in anger, his eye narrowed, and his lips drew into a tight line. If she hadn't known his soft heart, she would've been scared. "Oh really?" he growled, obviously trying to push everyone away.

"Really, Jason." Then she leaned forward, resting a hand on his knee, and pressed her lips to his.


	20. Chapter 20

Pulling back quickly, she looked at him with wide eyes. Oh no. What if she'd misread things? Her moment of stupid spontaneity might have ruined everything.

He looked a bit surprised but didn't move.

Glancing to the right, Trudy and Pete slipped out of the room with smiles.

Biting her lip, she kept her eyes diverted and glided up to her feet just out of his reach. He still didn't say anything. Her heart beat fast. What should she do to fix this? Swallowing hard, her eyes searched the floor. She hadn't felt this self-conscious and gangly since grade school. Out of the corner of her eyes, his bare feet touched the floor. Then his hand reached out and softly took her hand. He pulled her closer and wrapped his arms around her. She slowly raised her eyes to meet his, her heart thundering wildly.

No expression could be read from his face. Was he offended? Upset? He slowly lowered his head and captured her lips. His kiss was soft and gentle, taking all the time in the world to discover. Then his lips slowly parted and closed against hers again.

Her arms glided around his chest as she leaned into him. She slowly kissed him, growing dizzy from his touch. His warm lips continued their slow, romantic massage. She wanted more but didn't know the physical limitations of his mouth, so she let him lead.

He slowly kissed her, the tip of his hot, soft tongue lightly brushing over her bottom lip. Then his tongue retreated and he resumed the dry, seductive kissing.

He was giving her the choice to take things how far she wanted. The tip of her tongue slowly glided past his lips and touched his tongue. He tasted dark and strong, a masculinity all his own. He broke the kiss only for an instant to tilt his head to his left a bit and kissed her only a little more open mouthed, showing her his physical limits.

He couldn't open very wide and the bandage that covered part of his lips got in the way a bit, but she reached up and cupped the left side of his face to help guide her lips to a better angle. He continued the kiss slowly, as if letting her adjust but refusing to give up that they could do this. And then it all fell into place when they found the perfect angle.

His tongue glided into her mouth and carressed. She sighed and leaned against him, her knees nearly buckling. The passion mounted, and his arms tightened around her. He kissed her hungrily, his gentle hand reaching up to cradle her cheek. Her hand slipped around into his silky hair. She pulled him down a little closer and stood on her toes, wishing their bodies could melt together.

Their tongues danced. She grew lightheaded in the most wonderful way. Her feet shifted slightly. He ever so slowly danced her in a circle. Her heart soared until it reached amazing heights. She melted in his arms, her hear irrevocably lost to him.

Something brushed against the back of her legs, and she floated back down from heaven as their dancing came to an end and he slowly broke the kiss.

He kept an arm around her but still cupped her cheek, his thumb carressing. His face was just a breath away as he whispered huskily, "We're tangled in the IV line."

Her eyes drifted open, her head still upturned to him. "Hm?" she sighed dreamily. Then he raised his arm over her, and the line fell away from the back of her legs.

"Are you alright? You're a bit flushed." He brushed a kiss over her forehead and then gave a soft smile, keeping an arm around her just in case.

"Mm hm," she said breathlessly. He was going to be a dangerous romantic. Her heart beat faster. Going to be. He wasn't the type to string a girl along unless he meant it. He must want a relationship with her.

"Why are you out of bed?" A strong young African American male nurse walked in with his hands on his hips. "I was told to get down here and help a big guy out of bed after surgery. Don't know why they called me, man. This pretty little thing got you out herself just fine." He strutted over and crossed his arms over his chest. "We'll get you to the bathroom, get some bloodwork, and then do a lap around the floor if you're still feeling fit enough. Tell you what. If you ain't one of those stubborn patients, I'll bring you back here to your girl and some lunch quick enough."

She flushed and looked up at Jason, who still smiled at her.

"Grab some lunch and relax for a bit," he smiled.

"Do you want me to stay?" She bit her lip.

"No." He slipped her a wink and patted her lower back for her to go.

Grabbing her purse, she went to the door and glanced back to see the nurse unhooking the IV line. Jason was watching her. She blushed and darted into the hall. Then she leaned her head back against the wall just outside his door, ignoring the passing nurses and patients. Setting her hands against her warm cheeks to cool them, she took a deep breath. The smile wouldn't die, and her cheeks hurt from grinning. A couple boys had kissed her in college, but none had ever been like that. That had been like soaring through the sunset with wings, knowing he'd catch her if she fell. Her hand drifted down to her where her heart still pounded. She'd been overwhelmed being in love with him, but now it wasn't just a one-sided relationship. His emotions were so powerful they'd swept her away with him. Her hand drifted up to her lips that were still swollen from his kiss, and she closed her eyes. It had been a perfect kiss, even being in a hospital.

A noise to her immediate left made her open her eyes. Jason stood there, in his own PJs and robe, with the IV pole and nurse. Both men looked at her in surprise.

She straightened and flushed to the roots of her hair. Then she turned and hurried down the hall.

"Oh, man, you musta kissed her good. I've never had a girl look like that," the nurse's voiced followed her down the hall.

She closed her eyes, completely embarrassed.

"Manners, now," Jason calmly scolded. "She's a lady."

She smiled as she ducked into the elevator. Of course Jason would protect her reputation.


	21. Chapter 21

She sat in the cafeteria to eat lunch so Jason could have privacy eating his. The smile still wouldn't go away.

"Someone looks happier than this morning."

Looking up, she recognized the doctor from the elevator. He had a wrapped sandwich and drink in his hand.

"Hi. Yes, things are better." She smiled. Things were so much better than a few hours ago.

"Are you here alone? May I join you?"

"Oh. Um, sure." She pulled her tray back to make room on the other side of the table.

"Thanks. I didn't catch your name in the elevator. Emma?"

She nodded and glanced at his nametag, not having paid attention at all when he'd said it in the elevator. Dr. Parks. She nibbled her lip. This was a bit awkward. "What department are you in?" She took the opportunity to down another bite of sandwich so she could get out of here. Lunch with a strange man wasn't at the top of her top ten favorite things.

"ER. Glad to see things are going better with you. Here for your husband?" He glanced at her naked finger.

"Friend." Shoot. The hospital thought she was Jason's wife. Oh well, it's not like he was going to talk to the nurses in ICU about her.

He nodded. "Best of luck that things keep going well."

"Thanks."

"So, what do you do?" Then he had the grace to laugh. "Sorry, this sounds like an inquisition. Just trying to make conversation."

She smiled, relaxing a little bit. "I'm actually doing a freelance job right now trying to figure out if there's embezeling for a business."

His dark eyebrows rose. "Really? That's fascinating. Is that your normal freelancing?"

"Well, I recently got a grad degree in medical writing, but it's harder getting into the field without experience than I thought. This is just to tide me over for awhile."

He took a bite of sandwich and seemed to think it over. He swallowed. "You know, I have a friend who has been doing medical freelance writing for hospital materials the past ten years. Sometimes she gets overloaded in the spring. If you want, I can ask her if I can give you her number."

"Oh no, that's alright." She flushed. This seemed weird.

"Alright. But she does stuff for big hospitals. If you change your mind, you know where to find me." He smiled.

She nodded and popped the rest of her sandwich in her mouth, crumpling up the wrapper.

"I'm sorry. This is kinda awkward. You just look like this girl I knew in high school in Spanish class who was really smart and nice to me. I was a big nerd with braces and needed a leg brace after a skiing accident."

Her mouth fell open. "Tommy?"

He blinked. "Hoplin? Emma Hoplin?"

"Yeah!" She laughed and shook his proffered hand across the table. "Wow, look at you, a doctor now."

He laughed. "And you look great. That's awesome, a medical writer."

She held up a hand. "Not officially."

He waved his hand. "You're smart enough that you'll get work soon." Then he sobered. "It really meant a lot that you helped me with Spanish during lunches. If it hadn't been for you, I'd have been eating alone and flunking Spanish."

She frowned. "Why didn't you have many friends?"

"Any, you mean? I loved doing science experiments more than afterschool sports. The one time I worked up the nerve to go with the guys doing something, I totally wiped out on the snowboard and broke my leg. I'm better at socializing now. Kinda." He smiled and sat back.

"Wow. Do you have a family or anything?"

"Nope. You?"

She shook her head.

"I'm getting the old speech from my parents, the when-are-you-going-to-settle-down-and-have-kids one." He shrugged.

She laughed. "Me too. I turn thirty in a few days, but you'd think it was eighty with how the relatives act."

A few minutes later, she wiped the tears from her eyes from laughing at his jokes. She glanced at her watch. "Oh! I'd better go. I didn't realize it's been nearly an hour." Scooping up her purse and trash, she got up.

He scooped his trash up. "May I walk you back?"

"Oh. Sure."

She walked down Jason's hall with him. "Right up there. Thanks for walking me back." Her steps slowed, not wanting him to see Jason in case he wasn't wearing his bandage.

He kept walking and set a hand on her lower back. "It was good seeing you. Do you live near?"

She tensed and stepped to the side so his hand dropped. "No, a few hours away, actually. Just here for my friend." Her voice quivered a bit. It was just Tom, no reason to panic. She knocked on the half closed door to give Jason warning. And hopefully get him to come out. Then she turned to Tom, trying to get him to go. "It was good seeing you."

The door opened and Jason looked from her to Tom, who was a few inches shorter.

"Jason, this is Tom Parks-" Her hands shook, and she instinctively set a hand on his arm. His presence made her feel safer.

Jason glanced at her and then stuck out his hand. "Dr. Jason Port," he cut in, standing tall and looking Tom straight in the eye. His grip looked like it was firm, and his hand was larger than Tom's.

She blinked. He never introduced himself as 'doctor' to anyone.

"Pleasure," Tom said and set a hand on her back.

Jason's eye narrowed on Tom when she stiffened and clutched his sleeve. "We went to high school," she explained and stepped closer to Jason.

He slipped his arm around her. "Is everything alright?" he asked quietly for her ears alone.

She swallowed hard and nodded.

Tom looked from her to Jason and back for a moment. "Let me know if you want that number, Emma." Then he nodded and walked away.

She released a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

He guided her into the room and closed the door. "Was he bothering you? You looked scared."

She walked over to the bed and sat on the foot of it. Then she stared at the floor. "I was okay until he set his hand on my back down the hall. I got scared," she whispered.

He sat down on the bed beside her. "Do you get scared when I touch you?" His voice sounded compassionate and patient.

"No." Raising her eyes to his, she blinked back tears.

"Emma, perhaps it would be good to talk to a therapist or someone who deals with situations like you've been through. Maybe once is all you need," he said softly. "It's still so fresh, and you've been so busy with me that I don't think you've had time to really deal with the attack and the memories it brought back."

Curling up against him, she shook her head.

"What if I go with you?"

"No," she whimpered. Telling a stranger the nightmares, the details, the humiliation seemed too frightening.

"Will you tell me at least?"

A tear splashed onto his shoulder. She turned her face into him. He lifted her into his lap and rocked her as she told the story and wept.

"You know I would never hurt you," he whispered against her hair. "He needs to fear someone but those words I said were not for you."

"I know," she sniffled. "I've never been with anyone else. I've been too scared since to date."

"Sex should be gentle and filled with pleasure and passion, Emma. But most of all trust. You shouldn't fear all men because of one." He stroked her arm.

"Have you...? Sorry, that's not my business." She didn't want to think of him being intimate with anyone else. Maybe it was too soon for intimacy questions like that yet. But wondering about him with another woman made her stomach hurt.

"You can ask whatever you wish, and I'll say if I'm not comfortable saying yet." A deep sigh ruffled her hair. "I was engaged a few years ago. We never reached that level of physial intimacy, thankfully." He sounded so hurt that she held him tighter. "I was sedated for two days in the burn unit. She was there when they changed the bandage, the first time the doctor let us see the damage." His heart beat faster against her ear. "She gasped and stumbled away. The horror in her eyes...I told her that day I was calling off the wedding. She didn't object. I think she was relieved because she felt guilty to do it herself. I can't bind a woman in marriage when she fears my touch."

She lifted her head to see him blink back tears.

"I knew it wasn't a good match anyways when her reaction hurt more than losing her. I was naive and thought a spouse's love could be blind to anything. But a spouse is still a person, and people innately fear things. Things that don't look human."

Her eyes searched his face. "That's why you won't let me see. But you let Trudy and Stevens see, and they aren't afraid of you."

"It's completely different having a beast crawl into your bed. If I ever marry, my wife won't see my face. There's no crueler thing than a woman having nightmares about what sleeps beside her."

Her stomach rolled. "Is that what she said?"

"Not in as many words," he sighed.

She cupped his face in her hands. "Jason-"

He caught the wrist of her hand touching the bandage and pulled it away.

Her heart fell, and she stared at him in disbelief. "And don't you think not knowing might be more frightening?"

"Emma."

She got to her feet and spun on him. "That is not right. You can't project her reaction onto everyone else. That's no different than me never letting a man touch me again because of what he did!"

He raised his hand up. "I'm not doing this." Then he stood and started to walk across the room.

"Jason-"

"NO!" he whirled around. Then his face contorted in pain and he grabbed his head, stumbling back a step against the wall.

She hurried over and wrapped an arm around him. He leaned heavily on her and held his head. "I'm sorry..." Her words cut off when fluid leaked through the bandage. "We need a doctor!" she called and struggled to get him to the bed.

A nurse and doctor ran in. It killed her to do it, but she walked out and waited in the hall while the doctor barked orders. What if he'd gotten so upset the fluid leak has started again? She paced the hall, her heart thundering in fear.

The doctor stepped out a minute later. "He must not get his blood pressure that high. The surgical site is draining a bit more than usual from the infection and was exacerbated from his blood pressure. He needs to be in bed the rest of the day just to be sure."

"Thank you." She stayed in the hall until the nurse left the room too. Then she went in. He sat up in bed against some pillows, looking so lost. "Jason?" She walked over and sat down on the bed. "Do you feel alright?"

He slowly nodded, staring down at the bed. "I don't know if I can do this," he whispered. "I know you think it's an issue of trust, which maybe it is to a degree, but I honestly think that it would change things for the worse for you to see my face. If you need that, I can't give it to you."

She took his hands. "I think we're both stressed and tired. Things are moving faster for you than they are for me. To me, seeing this much of your face is no different than seeing someone on the street, but this is a big deal for you. Secrets are normal for you because of the circumstances, but secrets scare me."

He looked at her quickly, as if not having thought of it this way.

"I dated Gaston for nine months and found out he was cheating and owed some guys money. Then he got into my apartment four years ago..." She searched his eye. "I moved in with my parents and was terrified to be alone for six months. It took me eighteen months to get my life put back together. I'm nervous of men. I know it doesn't make sense, but my imagination runs wild in my dreams not knowing what you look like since I found out about the burn. You tell me these stories about people reacting, I see nurses reacting, you're so adamant I shouldn't see your face..."

His eye filled with compassion and worry. "And I'm making you scared."

She bit her lip and hesitated.

"Tell me, Emma. We need to talk like this, or it's just going to turn into arguments," he urged. "I don't want you to be worried to tell me you're afraid. I understand that my face is a very big issue in a relationship. I need you to understand, though, that I need to take things slow. I know your feelings have gotten farther than mine-"

Dropping her eyes, she swallowed down that embarrassment of having said 'I love you' when he didn't feel the same way.

His finger hooked under her chin and slowly raised her eyes to meet his. "That doesn't mean I'm not getting there. I don't want you wondering where things are at, or why I haven't reciprocated. You're right that things are moving fast, I just need them to slow down a little. I'm glad you don't seem nervous around me like other men, but that's part of why I want to take things slow. You've been badly hurt in a relationship, and I don't want to blunder it. Sorry, I hijacked the conversation. You were saying you see nurses reacting." His thumb stroked her cheek.

She swallowed hard, his words making her heart constrict. "You know, it would help if you were a jerk sometimes."

He blinked and then burst out laughing.

He looked so beautiful when he was happy, the corner of his eye crinkling with a twinkle in his eye. Perfect teeth glistened and an adorable dimple creased his cheek. She couldn't help but smile.

Holding his bandage, his laughter died down. "Let me record that. At some point you'll be telling me to stop being a jerk. Oh, I need more pain pills if you're going to start cracking jokes."

She smiled, glad he was in good humor again, and reached up to touch his poor face before remembering herself when he pulled back. "Sorry. Alright, I need to know boundaries."

He nodded. "No touching my right shoulder and up, bandage or not. For now."

She nodded. "But sometimes I'm going to forget, and you can't bite my head off."

"Fair enough."

She nibbled her lip.

"What? You bite your lip when you're thinking of a question."

Releasing her lip, she said, "Nothing."

"No, we need to be open." He held her eyes and patiently waited.

"It's not a question for now, but I was just wondering if that's a hard rule for forever."

He thought for a moment. "I think it'll just take time to be comfortable with you touching my shoulder. The burn is much worse on my neck and up." He opened his mouth and then closed it. Then he said, "I don't know, but part of me doesn't see any difference between touching and seeing the scars because you can paint a picture by touch. Part of me never wants any woman I'm with to even touch it. But maybe in five years I'll feel different."

She nodded. "Alright, I should tell you that one of the nurses said you have incomplete reconstruction of your ear. I don't know anything else," she added quickly.

His brow furrowed a bit, as if unsure what to say. "Okay."

Setting a hand on her chest, she said, "I just don't want you to think I don't know something but I do."

A small smile tugged at his lips. "Ah. I appreciate that. Well, I'm sure you probably know from stories of burn victims that the ear usually doesn't survive."

She nodded. "Tell me if I'm asking too much. May I ask if you're thinking of having more plastic surgery?"

He slowly shook his head. "I've had twenty four surgeries, which is far fewer than some burn victims. I'm so sick of hospitals, and there's not much physical improvement anymore that I don't want more surgeries."

"Twenty four?" Her heart broke. "Trudy and Pete said you've been alone for plastic surgeries. I have a request: I want to be there with you. What if something serious happens like today? You shouldn't be alone."

He looked hesitant. "I'll tell you about it, but we discuss if you'll be coming or not. I don't foresee needing more surgeries, though."

"Okay."

"You still haven't answered the question about if it's making you more scared seeing people react to me." His beautiful blue eye held so much understanding.

She couldn't look at him. It would hurt him so much to hear this.

"You have nightmares about me," he said, somehow seeming to know.

Her lip quivered. "I'm not scared of you. I don't know why I'm having these nightmares lately."

"Emma, don't cry. I had nightmares too before I saw." Her eyes flew to him, and he nodded. "It's alright. I think it's normal to fear the unknown. But even I had nightmares far worse after seeing it. I've been there, Emma. Trust me that it's best for you to not know." He held her hands tight and swallowed hard, taking a deep breath. "The burn extends along almost this entire half of my head. My ear pretty much all gone, and, obviously, my eye is. My lower lip was mostly gone, so what was reconstructed pulls downward. The angle and tightness of the scar tissue make it difficult to eat. And, as you know, limit how much I can open my mouth." He blew out a shakey breath.

Tears pricked her eyes. He'd swallowed down his fears and insecurities to put her needs first. "Thank you. You didn't need to tell me all of that."

"Oh goodness, you're overtired, aren't you?" He brushed away her tear that escaped, and he pulled her into his lap and kissed the top of her head. "Let's get you home for a good night's rest."

"But-"

"I will keep, Emma. I feel fine, and the doctor said everything is fine." When she continued to protest, he said, "Emma, in all honesty, I need a break too. This is alot to take in you seeing my face and everything. It's nothing personal, I'm just as drained as you are."

"I'm sorry-"

"No, I'm glad today happened." He leaned his forehead against hers and said huskily, "I'm really glad you came, Emma." Then he brushed a kiss over her lips. "Come tomorrow?"

She smiled. "I will. And tomorrow we do fun things."


	22. Chapter 22

**Author's Note: Thanks, Pichon, YazminXD, and Singingsilent for reviewing chapters (a slew of yours came in last night, Pichon). It really helps to see readers' perspectives. **

* * *

Maybe these two dozen, multicolored roses would give the wrong message. But Trudy and Pete were so excited about it. Her stomach hurt. She adjusted the sack on her shoulder without dropping the vase of flowers. Her arms burned from carrying so much weight through the hospital after lunch the next afternoon. Reaching his door that was half closed, she tried to juggle the vase to knock but gave up. "Jason?"

"Come in."

She stepped in, trying to see around the roses. The weight started to lift, and Jason appeared on the other side.

"I've got it. What are these?" He smiled and took them over to the table.

"Oh, thank god," she sighed and then dropped the heavy sack on the floor and rolled her shoulder.

He turned, wearing different PJs and his blue robe. His brilliant smile was worth the aching muscles. "What on earth is all this?" He walked over and bent down to brush a kiss over her lips.

She blushed, and he sat on the edge of the bed. She looked away, her heart hurting. "Trudy, Pete, and I thought you needed something to cheer your room. And I brought cards, some books from your library that Trudy says you like, and chess."

He looked surprised and smiled. "Thank you. You play chess?"

"No, but Trudy says you're really good," she forced a smile.

He burst out laughing but didn't hold his face in pain this time. "I see I'm supposed to teach you."

Getting up, she tossed aside her parka and walked over, pulling up the sleeves of her blue sweater. "Are you feeling better?"

"Much." His eye fell to her pants. "Are those new jeans?" He held out his hand.

"No, they're mine from home." She reluctantly took his hand, and he turned her in a circle.

"Very nice, Ms. Hoplin," he said, his eye not tearing away.

She smiled a little, a part of her enjoying that he enjoyed her somewhat tight jeans. Then she sat beside him on the bed. "So, Dr. Port, what would you like to do today?"

His eye shifted up to her lips. "I have no idea, Ms. Hoplin. But I was naughty last night and went to bed late." His voice was husky and low, for her ears alone.

A surprised laugh burst out. His attempt at talking dirty was so adorable and so unexpected.

"What?"

"Nothing." She tried to force a serious face.

Now he tried to choke back a laugh.

They both burst out laughing.

"Sorry," he chuckled and wrapped an arm around her. "That sounded sexier in my head."

She pulled away, got up, and stood eye level with him, her laughter fading. "Did you have trouble sleeping last night?"

He gave a one-shouldered shrug and slipped his hands into hers. "I was a little worried if you'd have nightmares last night about anything."

She frowned. "You worry about other people a bit too much." Then she looked away and said, "I think I was too tired to dream." Her stomach still hurt from being up half the night replaying their talk from yesterday. He was right that things were moving too fast. This was going to be a hard conversation.

He looked a bit worried. "Emma, whats wrong?"

She looked at him. That little wrinkle in his brow formed. "I was thinking about something else too. And I don't want you to think this has anything to do with the scars." She sat in the chair at the table near the foot of his bed.

Instead of keeping a distance like he would have a couple days ago, he walked over and pulled out the chair next to hers to sit. She must've stared because he asked, "Is this alright if I sit here?"

No. She needed the distance to keep from crying. "Yeah." Then she shifted. "This whole situation is kind of complicated. I mean the employee thing and all. Maybe things should just be professional until the work is done."

"Oh." A pang of disappointment flitted across his face. He looked down at the table for a moment. "I'm sorry. You're right, I abused my position-"

"Just stop," she begged and closed her eyes as she rushed it all out. "Stop taking the blame for something you didn't do. I think I got swept up by your kindness and then you rescuing me from the accident and Gaston." Her face burned, and she couldn't look at him. Her eyes focused on the table. "I've been pushing you into something, and I'm sorry." Now would be a good time for a nurse to swoop in. Or an act of God.

He was silent, so she dared a peek. His face portrayed no emotion. "I don't want you to be in an uncomfortable work position."

"I think I put you in one." She bit her lip.

His gaze shifted away for a moment. "No, but I want you to say what you want and not worry about what I think."

She looked away. He was the type who would try to spare a woman's feelings, just like how he'd broken off the engagement to spare his fiance the guilt of doing it. He'd said it loud and clear yesterday that things were going too fast, and just now he hadn't denied that she'd pushed him into this. Now was the chance for him to slam the brakes, to gradually slip out. But he would only take it if he thought she wanted it. She'd dragged him this far, hoping he'd see things weren't as scary as he feared, hoping maybe he'd feel the security with her that she felt with him. But it wasn't there for him, and he would let himself get in deeper and deeper in hopes of the woman breaking it off instead of risking breaking her heart. He'd sacrificed for her so many times; it was far past time to be as selfless for him. "I think things need to be professional," she whispered, her voice threatening to crack.

A nurse walked in. "Time for a dressing change. Then the doctor will be by in a couple hours for the spinal tap."

She got up and pretended not to see him reach for her hand to stop her. He needed this space. No matter how much her heart cracked a little more with every beat, she'd give this to him. Maybe they could still be friends. It was a lie she needed to tell herself, just like she'd had to go through the motions of bringing flowers and games this morning. She needed to hold onto him just a little bit longer, even if it was as fake as their hospital marriage.

The halls were quiet yet, so she wandered and tried to build a solid wall around her heart so it wouldn't break every time he'd walk into a room. She couldn't be angry because he had a valid point. And she couldn't be hurt because he'd admitted yesterday that he didn't love her. That had been a painful pill to swallow, but she'd done it. And it not's like they were really dating or anything. One kiss didn't constitute a promise. She'd been so head-over-heels happy yesterday, and he'd probably been flattered, so reality hadn't set in. Leaning her back against a wall, she covered her face. Oh god, she'd been so stupid, practically throwing herself at him. Dropping her hands, she stared up at the ceiling. Things would be so awkward now. He'd probably leave her alone in the study. There was probably someone in town she could rent a room from. If Pete drove, there'd be no running into Jason. If she started early and stayed a little late, she could probably get done a few weeks early. And cry over her broken heart. The noise of quick, long strides down the hall made her turn her head to the left.

He approached, somehow not looking any less powerful in a robe, hospital slippers, and large bandage covering half his face and neck than he'd looked in a suit and black mask.

Someone brought a med cart out from a room on his right just as he crossed, completely blindsiding his blind side. He grabbed his ribs and caught himself, and the candystripper apologized profusely.

"No, it's alright. I'm fine," he said, rubbing his ribs. His eye returned to her, fiercely determined.

Delicious shivers ran up her spine as he resumed heading straight for her, looking like a man whom Hell itself couldn't stop.

He stopped inches away and leaned his hands against the wall on each side of her shoulders. Looking down, his eye pierced her.

Her heart thundered wildly. Heat pooled in her belly. Sweet heaven, he seemed even larger and more powerful this close. Simply being this close, she could taste him. She swallowed hard.

"This doesn't have to do with my face?" His voice rumbled low and deep in his chest.

Her knees weakened at he sound of his deep voice. "No," she whispered, having to tilt her head back to meet his eyes.

"Do I frighten you?"

"No." Oh god, his breath brought back memories of that erotic kiss yesterday.

"Then why are you pushing me away?" he growled.

She couldn't look away or lie anymore. Tears stung behind her eyes. "Because this isn't what you want," she whispered.

He shoved away from the wall and cursed, walking in a circle with a frustrated look in his eye. "Like hell you're not what I want," he growled and looked directly at her. In two quick strides, he captured her mouth with his, cupping a hand behind her head as he pushed her against the wall. His tongue plunged into her mouth, hungry and demanding. Even though his body pressed her against the wall, his arm slipped around her and jerked her closer to him.

She gasped, both shocked and aroused. He kissed with so much power and passion there was no noticing he had any physical disability. Returning his kiss with just as much desire, she wrapped her arms around his chest and held fistfuls of his robe at his back. His arousal pressed against her hip, unable to be hidden under his soft flannel pants and terrycloth robe. His emotions and passion were so intense she couldn't catch her breath. Heat rushed between her thighs and her breasts tightened. Oh god, how could he awaken desire like this without touching?

He turned her without breaking the kiss, backed her up into an empty patient room, and kicked the door shut. Then he captured her hands and pinned them above her head, leaning the length of his hard body against her. She gasped and instinctively bucked against his pelvis pressing between her legs. He moaned deep in his chest and ran his tongue over her bottom lip before his kisses traveled down her neck. His lips and tongue suckled the frantic pulse at her throat.

Her breasts heaved, tantalizing even more as they came into contact with his muscled chest with each breath. The hardening tips of her breasts against her bra heightened arousal. Her eyes rolled back in ecstasy, and her mouth fell open as her body tensed and raised her onto her toes. His fingers interlaced with hers above her head as her back slowly arched, pressing her hips against his, harder and harder as she climbed past the point of no return.

His chest heaved. "Oh, yes," he panted, and his hips instinctively jerked. "Emma," he breathed and his hands tightened in hers as he pulled back from the edge.

Beautiful fireworks exploded behind her closed eyes, and he captured her whimpers in his mouth. His own pants mingled with hers. Those gentle hands slid down to wrap around her as she came back to earth.

He trembled slightly and looked at her through a half-hooded eye. "Don't tell me I don't want this." His fingers stroked her cheek. "I need a woman who isn't afraid to push my limits. I thought it'd take months to work up the courage to show you this side of my face, but within weeks I'm kissing you in daylight. I gave up thinking any woman would want to be in the same room as me, yet you want to touch me. You make me want to try. I'm meant to be alone forever; show me the impossible, Emma," he whispered. Then he kissed her, slow and soft this time.

* * *

"No! That's cheating!" she laughed on the bed where they played Slap Jack on the bed tray a bit later.

"You've gotta be faster." He shook his head with a smile and scooped up his cards.

She got up on her haunches, still laughing. "You're almost a foot taller and can reach the cards better."

"Oh, sure. Good excuse. Ready?" He held a card, ready to flip.

She met his eye and smiled. "I'm going to whoop you."

"Oh, are you smack talkin' me?" His eyebrow cocked, with a twinkle in his eye.

Bursting out laughing again, she wiped tears from her eyes. Who knew Mr. Formality was such a hoot?

He flipped a jack. Her hand darted down, and his stopped mid-air. "Oh, come on! You can't let me win now," she laughed and swiped the card.

"I didn't! I'm just not going to slap you," he frowned.

"Well, you don't gotta slam all your weight down and crush me. It's called controlling your strength." She half rolled her eyes. He took chivalry a hint too far.

"Oh, controlling my strength, Miss Sassy Pants?" He grinned and pushed aside the table. Then he reached for her.

Electricity shot zipped through her. He was going to pull her down for a kiss. Maybe on top of that perfectly chisled body. Heat rushed between her legs. She smiled, ready to see if his kisses were always better than the last one.

A nurse and doctor came in. Jason's smile dropped dead in an instant.

Her smile faded seeing him so solemn. It must be awful being so familiar with pain, and it tugged her heartstrings to see his eye cloud over every time staff entered the room, which was frequent being in ICU.

"Let's get the spinal tap over with, Mr. Port," the nurse said.

She got up as the nurse and doctor got things ready. "I'll be right outside," she promised and kissed his cheek.

He caught her hand. Stress faded his eye to gray. "Would you stay?" he whispered.

She frowned. He looked more upset than usual. "Of course. Is everything alright?" she asked quietly.

Rubbing his forehead, he looked not too far from tears. "I can't do this anymore, Emma."

The pain, stress, fear, prying eyes...she couldn't imagine being in his shoes, plus the fact of having the medical knowledge to know exactly what's coming and what all could go wrong. Pulling his hand down, she held it in hers and looked into his eye. "You can. Jason, this is practically a walk in the park compared to things you've gone through. And the surgery is over, the fever is gone, you can probably go home in a few days...the hardest part is done." She stroked his cheek. "In five minutes, this will be done too."

He let out a shakey breath. "I know I seem like such a coward," he said quietly without looking at her.

She caught his chin and turned his head to meet her eyes. "No. I promise you that I wouldn't have had the guts to go through twenty four surgeries. Don't ever think I don't admire your strength."

A sad smile lifted his lips. His shoulders slowly squared, and the confidence eased back into his eye. He looked ready to carry his next burden. It broke her heart there was one, and many more lined up and waiting for the rest of his life.

"Alright, shirt off," the doctor said.

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed facing the window and stood to shed his robe. Then he started unbuttoning the nightshirt.

She diverted her eyes to keep from seeing his shoulder.

"Just do it before I think about it too much," he said quietly.

Looking at him, she raised an eyebrow in question if he was serious.

He jerked his shirt off and sat on the edge of the bed, as if a little angry and a little afraid. The nurse reconnected the IV. He leaned his elbows on his knees and steepled his hands under his chin. He watched her intently as the nurse started scrubbing his back.

She stepped over to his other side and cocked her head. From under the bandage on his neck to half-way down his pectoral muscle and then over to his shoulder was the burn. His skin looked like a red, slightly bumpy, shiny spiderweb. She'd expected bubbled, pitted, very disfigured skin. "This is what you're worried about?" she asked quietly so the staff wouldn't overhear and wonder why his wife hadn't seen him shirtless.

He just watched, turning his head to see her in his blind spot.

She frowned severely and looked from his eye to his shoulder to his eye. "I don't understand what's so terrible. Is it worse in direct sunlight or something?"

The man blinked. And then he frowned.

"Alright, you'll feel a pinch," the doctor said.

She pulled over the chair and sat in it backwards so they could easily see each other. "We can talk about it after," she whispered and folded her arms over the back of the seat. "So, I'm quite curious where this date will take place," she smiled and took his hand when his brow furrowed in discomfort for a moment.

"Um..." He blinked, seemingly trying to shift gears. "I was wondering about a movie or the opera..."

"Tell me if you have any tingling or pain," the doctor cut in.

He didn't seem to be in pain. She bit her lip and mulled over his choices. Both were dark places. Knowing him, the opera was probably a private box seat. He'd probably be most comfortable there. "I've never been to an opera. Is it really in Italian?"

His attention seemed to focus on her. "It is. Do you speak it?"

"Ugh, no. I took Spanish in high school, but I wasn't one of those people for whom it came easily."

"That's alright. The songs and acting portray the emotion so well that very few who speak Italian are at the opera."

"Do you speak it?"

"Decent enough."

She smiled. "That's a modest man's answer. What other languages?"

"Spanish, French, German, and a little Dutch." He just said it, not seeming proud or embarrassed.

Her eyebrows rose. "Well, damn. And I was proud of reaching eight-year-old Spanish grammar."

He almost laughed but stopped himself.

"Hold still," the doctor commanded.

"Sorry." Her hand flew over her mouth. Nothing like paralyzing him for a joke. She leaned over to see if they were almost done. The blood rushed to her feet.

"Head down," Jason ordered. She turned sideways in the chair and dropped her head between her knees, panting to get air. "Deep breaths. Slow down."

"Do you feel alright?" Her voice sounded distant and black spots colored her vision.

"You're the one who's going to hit the floor."

She blinked hard, and her vision returned. The nurse was bent down and feeling her pulse in her wrist.

"Alright, lie down, Mr. Port," the doctor said

"Are you alright, Emma?" Jason sounded worried.

She nodded and slowly lifted her head. "I'm okay." He laid on his back in bed when the nurse and doctor left.

"Can you come lie down? You're still pale. I can't get up for a bit." He held out his hand. "Climb over me. It's better you faint on me than the floor."

She took his hand and sat on the edge of the bed for a moment. Then she climbed over his legs and laid down on his left side.

"Not one for blood?" He wrapped his arm around her and wiped her damp brow.

"It was a huge needle, and they took so much fluid. Did it hurt?"

"The local anesthetic burned a little, but that's it." He rubbed her arm. "It's alright."

She released a shaky breath. "Jason?"

"Hm?"

"I wish I would've been there when you got hurt," she whispered and stroked his bare chest, the sprinkling of chest hair tickling her fingertips. "I probably would have passed out every five minutes, but you must've been so scared. Were you alone?"

His chest rose and fell with a deep sigh. "My dad passed years before, and my mom not long before the accident. I had recently moved to California, so I didn't know many people."

"And then your fiance abandoned you," she whispered with tears in her eyes.

"It's in the past, Emma." He sounded so at peace with it.

"Do your scars usually hurt anymore?"

"No. The nerves are damaged, so there's not much feeling. Why are you so worried about this?"

Leaning up on her elbow to look down at him, she sniffled, "You seem so strong like you can handle anything. It's so easy to forget that you hurt and get scared too."

"Shhh, it's alright." He brushed away her tears. "You've never been in the hospital besides for your concussion, have you?"

She shook her head. "I was so scared I cried, and they didn't even do anything to me and I didn't hurt."

"I don't like being here, and I have highs and lows when I can't take it anymore, but some of the fear fades being desensitized to it. In the past four years, I've spent eighteen months in the hospital. I was terrified for the first couple surgeries, but they become less scary. I'm sorry, did I scare you that I got upset for the tap?" He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear."

"Do you feel like that the whole time you're here?" she countered.

He sighed and looked so remorseful. "No. It tends to be every few days that it just all gets overwhelming. Emergency surgery didn't bother me, but the tap did, in this case. If they wanted to do two more taps tonight, it wouldn't bother me because I already hit my stress peak for awhile. This is an extreme hospitalization, Emma. You're never going to have to be in the hospital for anything like this. Don't let this scare you."

With a shake of her head, she pressed her lips together to hold back the tears. "No, stop thinking about me. I'm trying to ask how scared you really are."

Pulling her back down, he kissed her head. "I think you're scaring yourself. Having you here helps so much, Emma." He held her tight.

At dinner, they brought him soup.

He looked at the tray the male nurse set before him in bed and then glanced at her in embarrassment. "I need solids," he said quietly to the nurse, as if humiliated. It hurt to hear him speak like that.

"The doctor ordered liquids because you're nauseous from the spinal tap headache," the nurse said.

He didn't say anything, but just stared down at the bowl. His poor stomach growled.

He was embarrassed. She turned to the nurse from her seat on the bed near his hip. The soup was too thick for a straw, if that'd even help him. "There are physical reasons why he needs solids." One look at his bandaged face seemed pretty self-explanatory.

"I'll have to call the doctor to get a different order put in." The nurse looked reluctant.

"Alright," she said. "We'll wait."

When the nurse left, he pushed the tray away. "I can't take you out for dinners." He sounded so disgusted.

She frowned. "We don't need to." Then she smiled and leaned a hand on his leg. "We can cook together in that wonderfully big kitchen of yours. Your dining table is long. If we sit at opposite ends with candlelight, I won't see you eating."

That won a soft smile from him. His stomach growled again. "Sorry," he blushed.

She stood. "I'm going to get you food. What do you want?"

"Emma, they'll bring something."

She got up and grabbed her purse. "Yeah, in two hours. Tell me. Chicken? Ham...?"

He looked a bit embarrassed. "Anything that needs to be cut up. And several napkins."

Her heart ached. Why did everything have to remind him of being different? "That wasn't my question," she said softly.

He held her eyes. "That's the answer you need to know," he replied quietly.

She looked around the cafeteria. Apples would probably be hard to open his mouth enough to eat without cutting them up. A banana would probably work. She set that on the tray. The chicken sandwich looked too tall for him, but the grilled cheese might work. But some people didn't like grilled cheese. She wandered down the line. Steak. Men loved steak. But that might be too hearty for feeling nauseous. Ugh, this was complicated.

"Can't make up your mind?"

She looked to the right to see Tom. "Hi," she smiled. "What's good for an upset stomach besides soup?"

He frowned. "Are you stressed?"

"No, it's not for me."

He cracked a smile. "You're not supposed to sneak food to patients. It's charted what they eat and how much."

"They messed up supper, and he's hungry." She looked at the salad. No, sometimes she had trouble fitting large pieces of lettuce in her own mouth. "Oh! Grilled chicken strips, please," she told the server. Then she took the tray over to the drinks. Milk? Juice? Water? Maybe juice would sit with him okay.

"Are you going to eat?"

"I'll come back down in a bit," she said and dug out money.

He set down his apple and followed her to the checkout. "How's your friend doing? Looks like he had something pretty serious."

"He's doing much better, thanks." She wasn't about to divulge Jason's secrets. She smiled. It felt good to know some of his secrets and help protect them. She paid.

"Are you going to be here much longer?" He followed her to the elevator and stepped on, hitting the button for her.

Hm. He must be going the same way. "I hope not," she smiled. She felt something brush her lower back. Nope, that was her bottom now. Her heart raced. She jerked away just as the elevator doors opened, and he held it for her with a polite smile. Had she imagined it? She stepped out and he did too.

"I'm sure you're glad. And having to stay with someone in the hospital is draining."

They reached Jason's door. She peeked in to see him lying down. His head must be hurting. Then she turned to Tom, who stood really close. She backed up. No, she hadn't imagined him touching her. Her heart beat faster. "Thanks for walking me back." Go away. That creepy feeling crawled up in her gut.

"Sure. We could grab supper. My treat."

"Oh, I'm okay. Thanks." She turned to go in and almost plowed into Jason. His hair looked a bit rumpled, but it didn't detract from the fierce look in his eye.

"Is everything alright?" He was curt and didn't look away from Tom.

"Yeah, he's just going," she said.

He nodded at Jason in acknowledgement and then looked at her. "I can at least walk you down."

"No." She took a step back closer to Jason until her back touched his chest.

"Are you sure? You gotta eat."

She opened her mouth, but Jason cut in. "The lady gave her answer."

The tension shot up fifty notches as the men glared at each other.

"Goodnight, Tom," she said quickly and tried to push back against Jason to back him up. He didn't budge.

"I'm just asking if he wants an escort."

"And she answered. Three times." He looked angry. "I don't want to see you here again unless she invites you."

"Is this guy nice to you?" Tom pointed a finger at Jason. Either he had guts or was stupid to insult a man as large and angry looking as Jason. "Let's go until he cools off." He reached for her, but she pressed back against Jason. Hard.

Jason's hand wrapped around Tom's wrist like a vice before Tom touched her. "Get out," he snarled and took a step closer, putting himself between her and Tom.

Tom looked a bit nervous and jerked his hand away. "Asshole," he muttered and walked away.

Jason closed the door and turned. He took the tray from her shaking hands and set it down. Then he wrapped his arms around her.

"He brushed his hand over my backside in the elevator," she whispered. Tears threatened.

"You're not going through the hospital alone anymore. As soon as I'm better, I'm teaching you how to fight off someone even larger than me."

The sweet man sacrificed his dignity for supper. He had to remove the part of the bandage that covered his mouth. They shared his dinner in the dim moonlight, and she sat on his good side while they ate side by side. She kept up the conversation to help distract him, and pretended not to notice him having to constantly wipe his mouth and go through a pile of napkins. He didn't offer much conversation, seemingly focused on getting done as fast as possible.

"Thank you, Jason," she said quietly when he still worked on his first chicken strip and she was finishing her second.

"Of course, sweetheart," he said softly.


	23. Chapter 23

**Author's Note: YazminXD, you did accurately read between the lines in noticing he called her "sweetheart" for the first time in the previous chapter. I was hoping if I did it as the last line of the chapter, some readers would catch it. :) I like "writing" between the lines, so keep reading between them. :) Pichon has some good reviews of things he/she noticed reading between the lines too. :)**

* * *

Trudy dashed over with the gooey brownies fresh out of the oven. "Are you sure about this? I think he'll like this about as much as a fish in a desert sun," she fretted and set the pan on the table.

"If he gets upset, blame me. Everyone deserves a coming home from the hospital celebration." She cut up the brownies into very small, bite-sized pieces so maybe he could snitch some without being behind closed doors.

Prince tore out to the front door, barking like the end of the world had come.

"They're here! Where's the balloon?!" Trudy threw her arms up, running around the kitchen like a chicken.

"It's on the table. Here, cut these." She set down the knife and dashed upstairs to her bedroom. Snatching up the red rose, with a white ribbon tied around it, and the parchment paper note, she darted down the hall. Voices echoed from the foyer.

"You should have reminded Ms. Hoplin that it's Saturday, and she doesn't need to be working," Jason scolded. That air of formality had leaked back into his voice.

"Yes, sir," Pete answered.

She darted to his room and laid the rose on his pillow and propped up the handwritten note.

_Welcome home, Jason_

_XO_

Then she raced down the hall and peeked downstairs. It shouldn't have been a surprise to see him come home from the hospital in a white dress shirt, slacks, and shiny black dress shoes. The bandage still covered half his face. He headed for her office off the left side of the foyer. When he disappeared inside, she darted down the stairs and stepped in behind him.

He turned, not looking pleased. "Why are you working today?"

Catching her lip between her teeth to keep from smiling, she shrugged.

"You didn't come to the hospital." He maintained a distance, his posture rigid.

She tilted her head. He seemed hurt but reluctant to show it. "You said I shouldn't be coming alone." Pete obviously would have been there too to help carry out the luggage being Jason couldn't lift much for a few weeks, but maybe he wouldn't think about that.

He gave a single nod. "I have quite a bit to catch up on, so excuse me."

"Welcome home. I had to stay behind to do something," she smiled, unable to keep the surprise any longer and let him go on with hurt feelings. She held out her hand. He seemed reluctant to take it, but she led him to the kitchen anyways. He was going to be so surprised.

Trudy and Pete stood beside the table with the tiny brownies and a big Get Well balloon. "Welcome home!" Trudy grinned.

She looked up at him. He blinked, as if surprised, and looked at her. Standing on her toes, she set a hand on his shoulder to pull him down. He smelled heavenly. She whispered in his ear, "Trudy says you love brownies. I thought if we cut them small, maybe you could have one with us?" She kissed his cheek, and he straightened and looked at her for a moment. Her smile died when he slowly shook his head.

"Last night was an exception," he said tightly, his eye hard.

"And it was wonderful," she beamed and slipped her hand into his. "Would you like some in your office instead?" If he insisted on working, he could enjoy them in private at his desk.

He turned without a word and walked out.

She stared at the empty doorway. Maybe cutting up the brownies had embarrassed him.

"Cheese puddin', I knew this was a bad idea, don'tcha know," Trudy sighed and plopped into a chair.

Pete walked over. "Perhaps you should see if he'll talk. Something happened at the hospital that I think upset him." He looked deeply worried.

She nodded and went after him. A nurse must have made some comment. Or maybe the doctor said there'd be worse deformity than originally thought.

He sat at a desk in a room beside her office. It was the first time seeing the locked office, and she stopped in her tracks. Hundreds of books lined the deep wood shelves on three sides of the room, stretching from the floor to the twenty-foot ceiling. Her mouth slowly fell open. The far wall behind the desk was a massive stained glass window of roses. Her eyes slipped to him firing up a laptop at the far end of the room. "Jason, this room is beautiful. You shouldn't keep it locked up." Some of the books on the wall looked very old. And very expensive.

He didn't reply.

Walking around to his side of the desk, she leaned against it. "What happened?"

"I need to work." He didn't even look at her but typed the password into the computer.

"Are you that hurt that I didn't come? I stayed to help Trudy make the brownies because she said she usually burns them." She frowned, trying to avoid ratting out Pete.

His jaw muscle clenched, and he kept his eye focused on the screen as his email opened up. "No. I need to work, Ms. Hoplin," he growled.

The harshness in his voice cut, even more than the use of her formal name. "You let me get so close last night. I didn't realize you resented it," she said quietly with a broken heart. "I'll leave you to your work, Dr. Port," she said softly and headed for the door. If anything, the last few days had taught her to stop pushing him. He'd come on his own if he knew her door was open.

She went into his bedroom and took back the rose and note. These wouldn't be the joyous, romantic surprise she'd envisioned.

Burying herself in work in the study, she heard his muffled voice through the wall making phone calls. The day ticked by.

In the middle of scratching down notes, a large hand covered hers to stop her pencil. She looked up to see Jason frowning.

"You aren't supposed to work weekends."

With a shrug, she eased her hand away. "I didn't have anything else to do. Plus, I lost a few days this week and need to catch up."

His eye searched hers. "There's no deadline to meet. If you go beyond three months, you'll continue to be paid for all of your services rendered here."

There were no other 'services' but doing the finances. Unless if the incredibly high salary was meant to include other things... She pulled her hand away and sat back in the chair.

He sighed. "That came out wrong. You're paid strictly for doing the accounting."

"And then everything ends when the job does," she retorted and closed the books. He had this worked out well.

"You only live two hours away. It's less than an hour helicopter ride. Nothing here terminates with the job, but the job, unless you decide otherwise." That tone of formality still tinted his voice.

"That sounds like a business deal," she accused. She sat back in the chair and looked at him expectantly. He acted so cool and aloof. Her blood started to boil.

"You're angry with me about this morning." The man sounded like an adult placating a difficult child. He sat his hip on the corner of the desk, calm and composed.

She bit her lip to keep from snapping. "No, I really enjoyed having my head bit off, as well as not knowing what I did that was so offensive."

He sighed.

"Things are going to be like they were before the hospital, aren't they? You were nervous and stressed, so you let your guard down there. Now it's back to suits and business. Since my 'services' aren't needed for the day, excuse me, Dr. Port." She got up and took the long way around the desk to avoid him.

"Emma."

She turned, ready to explode, and slashed her hand through the air. "Don't 'Emma' me. You pull me close and push me away when it suits you. You can't do that to people!"

"Just listen-"

"No! I'm sick of excuses! You act like you want a relationship, so I pour out my heart. Then you shove me away like I'm some kind of pest! Then you want me, then you don't."

"Emma, I was upset-" He stood.

"You don't have to always take it out on me!" She jammed a finger at her chest.

He looked so full of anger and hurt. "Goddammit, it's not about being mad at you!" he roared. "My ex was coming out of the hospital with a new baby! A baby that should've been mine!"

She froze. That's why he didn't love her-he was still in love with his ex. She stared in stunned shock as the knife protruded from her heart. Her chest heaved.

He closed his eye with regret, as if realizing what he'd said. "Shit, I didn't mean it like that."

Tears blurred her vision, yet everything felt numb. She quietly left and went up the stairs. Footsteps clicked on the hard foyer floor.

"Emma!"

She didn't stop and went into her room, swinging the door shut behind her.

"Emma!" He whipped open the door and stormed into the room, slamming the door against the wall.

She spun to face him, standing right beside the bed.

He strode across the room with a determined look in his eye. A look like Gaston once had.

Something clicked in her memory. The memory of Gaston flickered faster, of him storming in behind her into the bedroom when she'd been standing by the bed. It flashed faster, Jason morphing into Gaston, Gaston into Jason. Gaston walked toward her. Blood roared in her ears. "No!" She took a step back, slamming into the nightstand. Her body trembled with the furious flight of her heart.

He stopped dead in his tracks four feet away, his expression startled. Jason slowly reappeared.

"Get out." Her voice shook.

His eye widened. "Emma, I'm not going to hurt you."

"Go." Inexplicable fear clawed in her chest. It was Jason, not Gaston. Gaston was in jail.

He didn't come closer but reached a hand out toward her.

She startled violently, nearly toppling the nightstand. The panic choked; her chest heaved, fighting for air.

In a split moment, he took several steps backwards and held up his hands. "It's alright, Emma. I won't touched you." When he crossed the threshold, he knelt on one knee in the doorway. "I won't come in. Slow breaths," he urged calmly, his voice soothing and even.

She gasped in air that was too thick to breathe and sank to the floor against the bed. Air. She couldn't get air. A tear ran down her cheek as she clutched a fistful of the bedsheet. The room started tilting. Bells started ringing.

"You're having a panic attack. Your safe. No one's going to hurt you, Emma," he said softly, his voice like a warm security blanket. "Deep breaths, or you're going to faint." He breathed loudly, slow and deep. She copied him. When the tears and panic began to subside, he said, "I'm going to come closer and sit, but I won't touch you."

When she didn't react, his measured footsteps tapped the hardwood floor, and he sat a couple feet away.

"What happened?"

She shook her head. It was humiliating enough that he'd witnessed her lose it. There was no point in telling him why.

"I'm not him. No matter how angry I get, I won't hurt you."

Her eyes flew to him. How did he know?

"I can't make you, but I really wish you'd talk to someone. These fears will only grow, Emma. Pick whomever you want, and I'll fly the therapist to you or you to her. You might feel safer with a female. There nothing wrong with you for seeing her. I saw a handful of rape victims during med rounds, and they all said it helps to talk. Just think about it," he pleaded.

She slowly nodded. "Thank you," she whispered. He seemed so worried. Too worried for being in love with someone else.

He softly brushed her tears away. "Emma, I'm sorry. Downstairs I meant that I should be a father by now. It hurt to see that she's moved on and started a family, but know I won't have children. If I ever marry, my wife will accidentally see my face at some point. She needs to not want children because I won't subject them to fearing me or being picked on at school for having me as their father. If my wife somehow can tolerate me being in the same house and wants children, I hope she'd consider IVF. It'd be too much of a nightmare for her to endure conceiving naturally. I'd figure out how to work night hours to spare them having to be around me."

The lonliness of what he proposed. The heartache. She searched his solemn face. "You've given this a lot of thought."

A bitter laugh escaped him. "There was a lot of time to think in the hospital." His eye landed on the rose on the bed. "Did someone send you that?"

He sounded irritated...or perhaps jealous.

"I took it off your bed. It probably isn't exactly welcomed right now." She shrugged, trying to hide the hurt.

He reached up on the bed and fingered the rose petals and read the note. Then he rubbed his forehead, as if so emotionally exhausted. "Why do you stay?" he whispered.

Those words tugged at her heart. One of them needed to be the one to jump. She looked into the glint of his eye in the shadows. "Because you're kind and generous and have so much love to give. I think you put other people above you far more than I realize yet. Because you're compassionate and forgiving and intelligent. Because you teach me how to be a better person."

He pulled her into his arms and held tight. "You have such a big heart," he whispered. "I'm sorry. I took my anger out on you. I fear you sometimes and push you away," he whispered and rested his cheek atop her head. "You don't even realize you bring me to my knees, Emma. How easily you could crush my heart."


	24. Chapter 24

Wednesday. Today was not a good day. She rolled over in bed and stared at the ceiling. Her cell chirped with a text on the nightstand.

Prince groaned on the floor and rolled over with a sigh to get more beauty sleep.

_Happy Birthday, baby! I know you said not to call, but you didn't say to not text. Are you going out with friends tonight? Love, Mom_

She sighed and started typing. _Thanks. Just gonna stay in tonight and get some work done._

_Isn't your boss giving you the evening off?_

Her boss. She snorted. If only her parents knew how well her boss could kiss, they'd probably be dragging her out of the house. _He left Sunday for an urgent business matter and won't be back for a couple days. Didn't tell him it was my birthday. Gotta go now._

_Do you want Dad and I to call? We haven't talked in awhile._

_Mom, I talked to you guys last night. I'm good. Gonna watch a movie or something tonight. Gotta work._

_Are you okay? You sounded stressed last night. He's not being mean or taking advantage, is he?_

She had been stressed trying to field the fifty questions from her parents making sure Jason wasn't a twisted pervert. Her mom had even reported that her dad had his friends at the FBI screen Jason for a criminal background._ No, he's very polite._

_Be sure you're using protection at least. You can call us anytime, and we'll come get you._

Oh god. This wasn't a conversation she wanted to have with her mom. On her birthday. _Mom, we're not having sex! Bye_

She dropped the phone on the bed. Thirty. Ugh. When had she gotten so old? No husband, no babies, no house, not even a car to show for it. Jason had given her a one-week paycheck on Saturday to help keep up with bills. She didn't tell him that equated to nearly two months' of her normal salary. At this rate, she just might go buy a brand new car in a month. That'd be one item checked off her 'thirty' list. Her phone rang. Leave it to her mother to call anyways. She blindly reached for the phone and answered.

"Yes, I'm having sex with my boss." A car honked in the background. She blinked.

Silence. "Not quite the greeting I expected, but I'm game," a deep voice chuckled.

"Jason?"

"I hope you don't have another 'boss,'" he laughed.

Closing her eyes, she groaned. "I thought you were my mom."

A long pause came over the phone. "Should I be worried about the context of your conversations?"

Her face burned up. "She and dad grilled me last night about if you're being decent. Then she texted this morning to use protection if we...oh god, nevermind." She buried her face in the pillow.

His voice sounded light with laughter. "Your parents are busy this morning. They called me a minute ago and said I should give you the day off. And your dad threatened me with a shotgun. How come you didn't say today is your birthday?"

She shot up in bed and gasped into the phone. "Oh my god, they didn't! Are you serious?" she asked, utterly mortified.

He laughed. "No, they didn't. I couldn't resist saying it."

"Jason!"

"Sorry," he chuckled, not sounding remorseful one iota. "I was calling to tell you happy birthday. Traffic is backed up on Brooklyn Bridge, so it's taking longer to get to the jet than expected. I thought I'd be home by the time you woke up."

"I thought you're gone for a couple more days." She frowned.

"I just told you that so it'd be a surprise, but I miss you and couldn't wait any longer to call."

The intimacy in his voice sent shivers down her back. She smiled. He cared enough to miss her. Giddy butterflies fluttered in her stomach. "I miss you too. Wetexted last night."

"I know, but it was only a few minutes between meetings. And I'm spoiled having you around all the time. Are you doing anything tonight?"

She frowned. "No. Why, are you?"

"Would you like to go on a date? I have the jet out of storage, and there's an opera tonight in Chicago. You could have dinner with your parents first, if you want."

Her face nearly split in two from her grin. "Are you serious?"

"Or we could see what's on Broadway."

"New York?"

"Yes," he laughed. "I'd offer a San Francisco opera, but I fear I'd fall asleep on you after being on Eastern time for four days."

"Jason, I'd be happy with just a movie at home."

"I know, but you only turn thirty once. Live it up, Emma." The smile was apparent in his voice.

She groaned. "Don't remind me I'm getting old."

"Don't tell me you're trying to avoid your birthday. You're hardly old, sweetheart," he laughed. "You can go wild tonight and still blame it on your ignorant twenties."

"How did you spend your thirtieth?" she laughed. He grew quiet. Oh no, he must've been engaged.

"In the hospital." He sounded so solemn all of the sudden.

"Jason, I'm sorry. I didn't think first."

"You couldn't know," he sighed.

She nibbled her lip. Time to change the topic for him. "How old are you?"

"Why, are you going to ask me what I did for my fourtieth?" he chuckled.

She smiled. At least he wasn't still upset. "You don't look that old. And if you are, I'm offically grossed out that I kissed an old man."

He belly laughed. "I'm thirty three, youngster."

She laughed.

"So think about what you want to do tonight. I have to get on the plane in a minute. I'll be home in a couple hours and expect to find you not working. Happy birthday, Emma."

"Thanks, Jason. Have a good flight."

Bouncing out of bed and looking forward to the day now, she got dressed and went downstairs to find Pete and Trudy in the kitchen making pancakes and eggs. "What do you wear to the opera or Broadway?"

They looked up and smiled. "Happy birthday!" Trudy grinned.

"Happy birthday," Pete smiled.

"Thanks." Her cheeks grew warm and she smiled.

"There's a surprise on your desk," Trudy smiled.

She went into her office to see two long boxes almost as wide as her, with big ribbons on top on her desk. She opened the note attached to the box with the red ribbon and read Jason's handwriting.

_For the opera_

Carefully opening the box, she set aside the large lid and lifted back the red tissue paper. She gasped. A gorgeous red, off-the-shoulder evening dress lay inside. She lifted it out, ever so careful. The long flowing skirt fluttered to touch the floor. The very fine, delicate chiffon wrapped around the torso and crossed at the chest up into the sleeves. It was simple, yet so very elegant. Then she spotted silver, glittering heels in the box beside a silver clutch purse. A red velvet jewelry box lay inside. She picked it up, unsure what to think. Opening the jewelry box, ruby teardrop earrings and a ruby-studded necklace sparkled. This was all so much, and the second box on the desk likely contained another dress. A tag fluttered on the side of the red dress. Probably $150 knowing him. She shouldn't look...but she did. $540. "Holy crap!" She dropped it like burning coals. If anything else had tags, she wasn't going to look.

The second box was labeled for Broadway. A black evening dress with a flowing skirt but delicate flower lace from the long sleeves to hips was cocooned inside, along with black heels, a clutch, and diamond jewelry. This should be fun, but she sighed when a third box propped on the chair caught her eye. Inside that lay a black mink coat. The tag stuck out of the collar. $3,500.

She set the coat box on the desk and dropped into the chair, looking at all the gifts. Her stomach knotted. Flying to a fancy event, deciding what she'd wear, assuming she would be available to go on her birthday, flaunting how much had been spent...it seemed a bit too much like the wooing and controlling of Gaston, but on a much grander, less pushy scale. Maybe she kept choosing controlling men. She fired up her laptop to do work and get away from it all to get some perspective.

He walked into the study a couple hours later and frowned. "I said no working today." He walked around the desk and brushed a kiss over her cheek. "Happy birthday."

She looked up at him, ready to launch into conversation. The words died on her lips. Besides his usual suit, he wore a hard, skin-toned mask that covered half of his face. It had the smooth contours of a face but none of the details. It looked like a blank mannequin without even the etchings of an eye, ear, or lips. "You have a new mask?"

"No, actually. I wear this if I'm in public, but it's not comfortable, so that's why I was wearing the ski mask at home."

"Oh." She blinked. The cheekbone didn't jut out quite as far as his other side, and the brow didn't seem as pronounced. The hard-looking material seemed to mold into a pliable rubber at the jawline to cover the side of his neck.

"Does it bother you?" He frowned.

"No, it's just different. Sorry, I didn't mean to stare. It gives the illusion of looking a bit disproportional."

He looked away and shifted before meeting her eyes again. "It's made to match the contours of the burned side so it fits snug. A beam fell in the fire and crushed that side of my face. It was reconstructed the best the surgeons could," he said, his voice quiet.

"Oh, Jason. I'm sorry, I was rude." Her face flamed in humiliation at embarrassing him. How much worse could things be for him? Not just no eye and ear, but severe burns, difficulty eating due to deformity...and now a crushed skull. The image of him in her head grew more and more deformed at every turn. Maybe that Internet comment been right that he really didn't have much of a face left. Perhaps he was right that it would frighten her to see him. Her stomach twisted in knots. Her imagination started running wild, but she slammed the brakes. He was a good man, capable of so much love. Looks did not define the heart. It might take some time, but eventually she would be able to look at his whole face and see beauty.

He shrugged, dragging her back to the conversation. "It's a natural question. I'm not this close to most people, so I don't think most people even notice it."

She nodded and sat back in her chair with a sigh. "Jason, we need to talk."

His smile died and he sat a hip on the edge of the desk. Something in his eye stoned over, as if he'd thrown up a wall to brace for what she was about to say.

"These gifts are very beautiful and generous, but I'm not sure they're appropriate."

He blinked and seemed to relax. "I thought you were resigning." Even so, it was a job for which anyone could replace her, and he had even commented that they only lived a couple hours apart. Odd that he seemed so relieved. "How do they seem inappropriate?" He frowned.

She bit her lip, weighing her words. "They're just so much. I could see maybe...are those real jewels?" she cut herself off.

He nodded. "I'm not going to give you fake ones when I can afford to give you something nicer. Do you want me to take back the dress you aren't won't be wearing?"

The man seemed utterly perplexed. She was being rude. She should just accept one outfit and tell him thanks.

"I want you to like what you wear this evening," he coaxed and reached out to stroke her cheek.

She caught her lip between her teeth.

"Sweetheart, be honest. This is your night." His fingers curled around the edges of the desk. "Hit me."

Taking a deep breath, she launched into it. "Everything is beautiful, but I don't want entire outfits chosen for me like I'm some 'little woman.'"

He nodded, his eye focused on her intently, as if deciphering a language.

"How did you know I'm a size 6?" She frowned up at him. A red flag that he knew it?

"I asked Trudy what she thought you'd be before I shopped." He held up a hand. "If it's off, it's not because I think you're overweight or something."

She nodded. Perhaps he just thought he was giving a nice birthday present. "I like that you selected things yourself, but even just a sundress would be nice. These are far too expensive."

He frowned severely. "How do you know the price?"

"The tags..."

"What?" He got up and dug in the boxes. "I'm not seeing tags. The sales clerk said she cut them off."

"The red dress and coat have them. I didn't look if the others do."

He found them and sighed in disgust. "My apologies. Don't worry about prices. I want you to like these." He resumed his seat on the desk. "What else?"

"I sound like a brat."

"No, you sound like an independent woman who knows her mind," he smiled. "No one ever told me women are so interesting. Explain what else."

Folding her hands in her lap, she continued. "I don't wear furs. Leather is one thing when the entire animal is used for the meat and hide and everything, but not when they butcher only for the hide."

He looked like he was about to smile. "You're a bit of an animal rights activist. May I give you money to buy a dress of your choosing?"

"No, that's not the point."

He shook his head in confusion and folded his arms over his chest. "I need you to spell it out because I don't follow."

Maybe just saying it would be best. "My ex did the wining and dining and picking out clothes, but not on such a grand scale. I don't want the domestic abuser."

His eyebrow rose as it dawned on him. "Emma, dates aren't normally going to be like this. This is your birthday. I usually don't go out because people stare and make comments, and I don't want to subject you to that. I want you to enjoy this, that's all. I know that materials don't buy a woman. I wanted to spoil you because it's your birthday and because you've been so generous coming the hospital."

She stood and stepped up to him, his scent enveloping around her. His hands rested on her hips as they held each other's eyes. "I'm simple and practical. If you insist on spending a lot, spend under $100 on me and send the rest anonymously to a children's charity."

A smile crept across his lips. "Anonymously?"

"Yes. It isn't giving if recognition is expected."

Something in his eye nearly glowed with happiness. He ran a hand through her hair. "You're far from simple, Emma. You surprise me at every turn." His voice sounded husky, and he leaned in closer, tilting his head to the side a bit. "You're so beautiful," he whispered.

A warm blush swept through her. He hadn't been talking about just her body. Butterflies in her stomach floated down to settle in her lower belly. Her heart beat faster when their lips met and her eyes fluttered closed. The mask hid nearly half his mouth, but his hot tongue stroked over her lips. The tip of his tongue dipped into her mouth, tasting and caressing. His arms wrapped around her and pulled her body against his. She hesitated for an instant before kissing back and boldly stroking his tongue.

He half growled, half moaned into her mouth. In a quick swipe, he shoved the papers to the other side of the desk without breaking the kiss. He pressed her down and climbed on top.

Her heart thundered wildly in excitement as his weight settled down just enough to pin her and for his heat to penetrate. His thigh pressed between her legs. Pleasure burst at the contact. She gasped and arched up, breaking the kiss as her head fell back. Her leg instinctively wrapped around his thick thigh to hold him there. He didn't miss a beat, his mouth capturing the long column of her throat where he licked and massaged with his lips.

Her hips slowly rotated against his thigh as her body grew damp and readied to take him in. His hard arousal pressed through his pants against her hip, prepared to claim her. "No shirt," she whimpered and tugged it out of his waistband. Oh god, she needed to feel his skin. Those hard, naked swells of muscle that contained so much power.

"Emma," he sighed in soft protest against her collarbone and continued his exploration.

Tugging his shirt to bring him back up to kiss his lips, her hands slipped over his shoulders and eased his suit jacket down his arms. He shrugged it off without breaking the kiss and then leaned his weight down again. His hand glided through her hair in an erotic massage, ever so gently tugging. Tingles followed his fingers, but her hands fumbled losening his tie and then unbuttoning his white dress shirt. If he wouldn't remove his shirt, she'd settle for this. Her hands dove inside. His skin burned hot and creamy smooth, covering rippling muscles that coiled beneath. His broad shoulders flexed with his movements, even his burn scar was thin enough to not veil his power. Pleasure surged, and she gasped as her leg tightened around him, shifting his pelvis so his manhood pressed between her legs. Her legs wrapped around his thighs as instincts swam up. Oh god. Her hips started rocking.

He gasped into her mouth and his hips gently thrusted, his back slowly arching and rolling under her hands as rocked her over and over. His hand cupped her breast and squeezed, as if instinctively reacting by grabbing anything to stop his instincts. His touch hardened the tips of her breasts, and heat surged down to her belly. "Emma," he gasped, his body trembling in her arms.

Her pants matched his, and her fingers softly scratching his back. Oh god, it was coming. She soared toward the clouds with him, her body slowly tensing. "Jason," she breathed. He broke the kiss and grabbed her hips between his hands, giving a hard thrust that would have slid her on the desk. Her lips parted in a soft 'o' as her body hummed and everything glowed white behind her eyelids. Heat swept through her body, wave over wave, and she slowly relaxed. Her eyes slowly opened, the afterglow of pleasure making her so relaxed.

His face looked flushed, and he panted. He stared at her, looking shocked and confused. The hardness of his erection still pressed against her without release, but he didn't seem to even notice. "You found pleasure with me?" he whispered.

She frowned. "I thought it was alright, that you wanted it too." She sat up, their faces inches apart. He didn't move.

His brow furrowed. "But...why did you want my shirt off? You touched my shoulder and still found pleasure."

Her heart twisted seeing him so utterly unable to comprehend a woman desiring his body. She looked into his eye and said softly, "It's only skin."

"But, in the burn unit severe patients had to see a social worker or psychologist. She said a woman probably wouldn't orgasm if she saw or touched my scars while lovemaking."

She held his eye. "In the hospital I did when you kissed me in that empty room."

He took a step back in surprise, his shirt hanging open. Then he glanced down, seeming to remember his shirt hung open, and started buttoning it.

"No," she said, her voice soft. She stood and eased his hands down before gliding her hands over his chest in slow strokes. Looking into his eye, her heart nearly broke to find confusion and nervousness there. "I don't see it, Jason. I see an incredibly sexy man whose muscles I desperately want to see naked and flexing when lifting heavy things after you're healed from surgery. I see a man who is kind and beautiful." She kissed the unburned part of his chest while her hands followed the contours of his very well muscled burned and unburned areas of his chest. Then her hands glided down to rub the washboards of his abs. "Heavens, Jason, you shouldn't have muscles like this," she sighed in adoration. Kissing his burn might be too much for him yet. He didn't move. "If you don't believe me, make me orgasm again," she whispered with her lips against his chest.

That got to him. He sighed and sagged against her a hair, his heart beat picking up speed. Then his hands locked on her shoulders and he eased her back a step. "As much as I really want to follow through on that challenge, I don't trust myself to stop again. We don't need to be announcing we're expecting and having your dad hunting me down with his FBI friends." A smile touched his lips.

She smiled and held his eye, very curious about something. "He'd probably force you to make an honest woman of me or shoot you."

His smile died, and he pulled back. "I'll return these gifts."

She searched his face, her heart heavy that he avoided the subject. "You would take the bullet, wouldn't you?"

He held her eyes and stroked her cheek with the back of his knuckles. "I wouldn't ever put you in that situation, Emma."

But that wasn't what she'd asked.

"Are you certain there's nothing you want to keep?"

She let the conversation drop for now and shoved away the hurt. Her eye fell on the ruby earrings.

He must have followed her gaze because he walked over and pulled the earrings out of the box. Then he brought them over and pressed the earrings in her hand.

"Jason, they're too expensive." She couldn't look away from the beauty of them, though. A dark shadow cast inside them. Lifting them up to the light, she squinted. "Are those roses?"

"The jeweler was somehow able to put real ones inside. The studs are real rubies, but the tear drops are glass."

She walked around the desk to pick up the necklace. In the middle of the strand of rubies lay a rose encapsulated in that teardrop too. "I've never seen such a thing. Where did he get roses so small?"

"Here." His voice was soft and quiet, right beside her. "Trudy mentioned that you adored the white roses in your room. They're white-red ones looked black in the red glass."

She looked up at him, her heart melting. "You had these made for me?"

He barely nodded. "But you don't have to keep them," he added.

Custom designed jewelry from roses he grew. They were too precious to not keep. "Jason, you should have said. They're beautiful." He must care more than he let on to have such a thoughtful gift fashioned. She looked up at him and swallowed down the lump in her throat. "Thank you, Jason." Standing on her toes, she kissed his cheek.

A smile danced across his lips, and he absently touched his mask.

"Does your eye hurt?" She frowned. Last week seemed so long ago, making it easy to forget he was still fresh from major surgery.

"No. I don't have one." His smile grew.

Rolling her eyes, she couldn't help but smile. At least he could joke about it. "Does your _face_ hurt?"

"I think I need to get this mask off. It's starting to rub the bandage. Let me go work on a different dress."

She caught his hand. "Jason?" Biting her lip, she looked up at him. He had put a lot of thought and heart into the gifts, simply wanting to give something nice and not be cheap when he didn't need to worry about money. She should have known not a hint of control, much less domestic abuse red flags, had been behind the gifts. "May I keep a dress? I thought you were showing off the prices and being controlling." Her face flushed. "I'm sorry."

"No need to apologize," he said quickly and grabbed a box to bring it over. "I see how it came across all wrong. You can keep everything, if you want." He set the box on the desk and pulled out the black dress a bit. Then he brought over the other box and fussed with arranging that red dress. He stepped back for her to look.

She stepped up to the desk and fingered the red dress. It would match the jewelry.

"I thought you'd look stunning in red, with your dark hair and your complexion. And you can wear either dress to either event."

Looking over her shoulder at him, she smoothed a hand over the red skirt. "What event do you want to go to?"

"It's your choice. I had trouble getting Internet on my phone. I'll check what's on Broadway." He walked around the desk to sit at her laptop and started typing.

She picked up the satin clutch. The material was cool and smooth in her hands. There wasn't movement from the corner of her eye. She looked at him. He watched her closely.

"Emma, if you like anything, you don't have to feel guilty about accepting something. I promise I do give money to charities, so you aren't taking it from anyone."

A soft laugh escaped her. "It never occurred to me that you don't give to charities. It's just so much money, and I don't need something this expensive."

He leaned his elbows on the desk. It seemed so odd to see him disheveled with his shirt half unbuttoned and him not sitting all tall and proper in the chair. "Tell you what. You take these, and I will keep any future gifts below...$500."

"$100."

"$300," he countered. "Why am I arguing what I spend on your gifts? You shouldn't be privy." He waived his hand and resumed looking online. "Take it." He nodded at the box.

She laughed. "You can't order me to take a gift."

He delivered a stern look from beneath his brow. "You're at your desk, so you must be working. Hence, I'm your boss right now. Take the box or you're fired." His eyes returned to the screen.

Walking around the desk, she wrapped her arms around his neck from behind and rested her cheek against his. "You wouldn't fire me," she smiled.

His hand wrapped around her arm as he clicked the Broadway link. "No," he chuckled.

Phantom of the Opera popped up.

Oh god, he didn't need to be reminded. She shot up and tried to turn his chair around. "Cripes, you're heavy." Giving up, she dropped back over the armrest to land in his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck.

He burst out laughing and caught her. "Well, hello."

"Hi," she smiled. "What if we have dinner here, and then we can go to the opera in Chicago?"

"Are you sure?" His laughter faded, but the smile remained.

She gave him a look. "How insensitive do you think I am?" As if he would enjoy a show about a man whose face was burned and he became a recluse who never found love?

"Alright, I see your point. Would you like the opera, though?" The soft tips of his fingers stroked a stray lock of hair from her brow.

"I would like even sitting in the dark with you." She rested her head on his poor shoulder. "You should go take off your mask before it irritates your wound."

"I just want to stay here for a bit," he sighed and cocooned her in his arms.

"Can we watch a movie tomorrow night?" She snuggled up to his heat. Curling up in a chair with him under a blanket in the dark sounded heavenly.

"That sounds perfect, sweetheart," he whispered. He leaned over and shut down the computer. Then he sat back and held her close.

* * *

**Author's Note: I hope you caught that he so easily shut down the Phantom of the Opera screen and curled up with Emma rather than pulling away at the reminder of his disfigurement. **


	25. Chapter 25

In the late afternoon, they worked side-by-side washing vegetables in the kitchen to make dinner. He peeled carrots under running water in the sink while she cut potatoes on the counter to his left.

"Do you want to..." she started to say.

The grating of his peeler stopped.

"...watch action, mystery, thriller, drama, or romance tomorrow night?" she finished.

Cold water droplets flicked at her. The sound of the peeler stated again.

"Hey!" she squealed and wiped the water off her cheek with her shoulder.

He looked so innocent. "What?"

"What do you mean, 'what'?" she laughed and leaned over to splash a few drops of water at him. He dropped the carrot and peeler in the sink and reached for her with a smile. She abandoned her knife and darted away with a squeal, her ankle-length skirt tangling her legs. "Don't get my hair wet or it won't curl," she giggled and scrambled on the other side of the island counter for protection.

He leaned his hands on the empty counter and grinned, with a mischevious look in his eye. "You think the counter will protect you?"

She nodded, still laughing.

"Oh, honey," he shook his head. "You clearly have no idea what SEAL training involves."

When he leapt over the counter in the blink of an eye and landed beside her, she screamed in surprise and turned to run. He caught her around the waist as she laughed and turned her in his arms. She shook her hair out of her face, still smiling.

He pressed her up against the stainless steel refrigerator and pinned her with his body. Her smile slowly faded as she looked into his eyes. The tenderness reflecting back ran so deep. His hands slid down her arms to interlace their fingers. Her heart thudded against his chest as she fell into his gaze. Then he leaned in, his lips massaging hers in an open-mouth dance. His tongue didn't touch, yet it was the most tender kiss.

A gentle warmth surrounded, enveloping its arms around her. Her hands tightened in his. The room spun, yet he kept her still. He made her fly, yet kept her grounded. His hands guided hers to rest on his shoulder, and then a strong hand rested on her upper back. Letting him raise her hand, he held it out to rest in his at an angle. When he took a step back slowly, she followed, still kissing him. A second step to the side, and he slowly broke the kiss to hold her eyes. Something so very close to love shined in his eye.

She followed his lead. He led a waltz. She tensed. Her foot stepped on his, and she fell against his chest. "I can't dance," she said in embarrassment. Then she stepped back and started to pull out of his arms.

He didn't let her go but pulled her closer. "Yes, we can." Holding her eyes, he said, "Relax and feel the slight change of pressure in my hand against your back. My arms are your frame."

When he positioned her hand on his shoulder, his arm wrapped strong and secure around her. Then he took her hand and stepped back. She felt the slight change in pressure against her shoulder blade and took a tentative step. His gentle smile encouraged as he took another step. She followed and fell into his slow rhythm that gradually took shape into a dance. She misstepped again, but he didn't break pace. His strong frame didn't falter and compensated to help her get back in rhythm. He smiled, his joy making her let go of her fears. The room spun, a little faster with each step. His arm guided and held strong. She smiled, feeling lighter with each step. Her feet flew with his, fluidly following his steps. The silent music in his smile swept her away with him.

"Jason, it's too fast," she giggled as he danced them around the kitchen.

"Stop thinking about it. It's just too cramped," he smiled and started leading her toward the door. "We're perfect together, Emma. You're there, just let it come."

Her skirt swung out as he spun them into the expanse of the foyer. The dance melted into perfect synchronization, no longer requiring any thought to spin around the room with him. He looked so free, the burdens lifting away and taking years with them. The hint of a wall that always guarded his eye was gone for the first time. Her heart beat faster, and she couldn't stop smiling. He smiled so long his poor face must hurt. But he didn't stop. He spun her out, holding her hand and spun her back to him. She laughed as he twirled them faster and faster, each step a half turn until they swept around the room.

Pete and Trudy peeked out of a side room with wide grins, but before she could be embarrassed, Jason recaptured her attention, seeming oblivious himself to the audience.

He spun her around the room, his smile rivaling the sun pouring in from the skylights. She spun out of his arms, and he met her a few feet away, catching her in a gentle dip backwards. A hearty laugh escaped her, her head falling back. He tipped her upright again. He laughed, the corner of his eye crinkling with joy, and carried her away again. A surge of energy filled the room, and he swept her around in fast turns, somehow not losing their balance as they floated on clouds.

The spinning slowed until he pulled her closer. His hand slid down her back to rest on her waist. His other hand pulled in to hold her hand against his heart, and his good cheek rested against her hair as he led a slow, swaying dance. She rested her head on his shoulder. Something about him was always calm and steady, like a beacon that could handle any storm.

"Emma?" he whispered. "May I meet your parents?"

She leaned back and looked up at him, her feet slowing to a halt. He looked serious.

"If you want, that is. It would mean telling them about my face." His eye searched hers.

Her heart stilled for an instant. "You want to meet them?"

He slowly nodded. "Do you want to take things to the next step?"

Swallowing hard, she nodded. Her heart swelled. "But, are you sure about your face?"

"They have to know sooner or later," he said softly. "They might already know. I heard from one of my contacts that your dad had the FBI run a screening on me." A smile tugged at his lips.

She groaned and dropped her forehead against his chest.

"It's alright," he chuckled. "It's good they worry. It means they love you. Are you still comfortable still living here, though? As far as gossip? I don't anticipate any problems with the townsfolk, and Trudy and Stevens are here, but..." He shrugged.

Her cell rang in the kitchen before she could answer. "Hi, Mom."

"Hi, baby. Dad's here too."

"Hi, pumpkin," he said.

"Hi." She sat at the kitchen table.

"Honey, I don't want you spending your birthday alone. We can email you a plane ticket to come out here for dinner-"

Jason walked in and grabbed his cell off the table, giving her a smile before heading back out. "Hang on, Mom." She covered the mouthpiece. "Jason?" she whispered.

He turned in the doorway and walked back over, his eyebrow cocked a little in question.

"My parents are asking me to come out for dinner tonight. I didn't tell them we're going out."

He nodded and leaned a hand on the table as he whispered. "We can move things to tomorrow night."

"Well, I was wondering if you want to come and then we go to the opera? Or is it too soon to meet them?"

He blinked. And then smiled. "If that's agreeable with everyone. I'll eat beforehand, though."

She smiled. He must be very serious about things to tell her parents about his face. Then she tilted her head back, and he accommodated with a kiss. "Mom? Can Jason come too?"

"Jason? Your boss?"

She flushed. "Yeah," she replied in embarrassment when he winked at her. She got up and went into the study for privacy. "He kinda is taking me out to the opera in Chicago tonight."

"Is he sexually harassing you?" Her mom sounded furious.

"No, he's so sweet. He...he had to be in the hospital last week, and things kind of started changing..." She explained his surgery and accident.

She practically bounced to the kitchen a few minutes later, her footsteps so light. His back was to her, and his mask lay on the counter by the sink. She slammed to a halt. He held a glass of water and a napkin to his chin. He drank, a small, steady stream trickling into the sink. Stepping back, she stood around the corner and leaned against the wall. Her heart pounded. How severe of a deformity it must be to have water leak out that bad. "Jason?" she called softly.

"Hold on a moment." He stepped out, with stress clouding his eye. "You saw."

"I didn't see anything but the water dripping in the sink." She searched his eye.

He closed his eye in disgust for a moment. "I asked you to announce before you enter." He didn't sound angry, simply frustrated and embarrassed.

"I was excited to tell you they said 'yes.'" She nibbled her lip. He was going to back out now having second thoughts.

But he looked at her. "Out with your question."

It hurt to see him so ashamed. Everything in life she took for granted was some kind of a burden for him. "You don't need to be ashamed, and I don't think any less of you. Will you tell me about it?" She looked up at him.

"No. And I need that wish respected. There are some lines I need to trust won't be crossed." His voice left no room for argument.

She nodded. "I understand that trust still needs to build. I know you've told me a lot in the past couple weeks." She swallowed hard and blinked back tears stinging her eyes. "It means a lot that you trust me like that. I would never do anything to hurt you or intentionally betray your trust."

"I know," he said softly and stroked her cheek. "It's hard to trust anyone. You mean so much that I'm just scared that you would run if you find out too much too soon. And I know I have to come to terms with that. I'm trying."

"No, I know. I just want you to know I understand why this is hard and scary, and I treasure you. I think I'm more devoted than you understand yet."

He pulled her in for a hug. "I treasure you too, sweetheart. And I don't want to embarrass you, but I notice you have kept the 'love' word in check. That means a lot because I'm not worried about trying to race to catch up in emotions with you. But they're coming so strong and fast, Emma," he said softly. "I have no doubts that I'll say it to you. I don't take it lightly, not that I'm saying you do, I just want to reach that level of you knowing more about my face before I say it. It was so hard knowing my ex felt trapped in staying with me because of guilt. I don't want you to feel trapped because I said 'I love you.'"

"I would never stay out of pity. You don't deserve that."

He hesitated. "Sweetheart?"

She smiled at the warm fuzzy feeling that name instilled.

"You don't have to answer, but I just want you to think about this. In the hospital last week, I talked to a therapist a couple times. I think that's what has helped so much. I just want you to know that if you want to talk to that female therapist, the offer for you to meet with her doesn't expire at a certain date. And you can always talk to me more, if you need to."

"Thank you," she said softly.

"Alright, no more depressing conversation. This is your birthday."

She took his hand and smiled. "They seem excited for you to come tonight-"

His cell in his pocket rang. "Sorry." He pulled it out. "It's your parents," he frowned and answered it. "This is Jason." His face relaxed into a smile. "Thank you, sir. Emma was just telling me."

She blinked. Jason never said 'sir'; everyone said it to him.

He glanced at her. "Yes, sir. We'll be arriving at the airport at five?.Is that enough time for Mrs. Hoplin?..." 'Four?' he mouthed.

Grabbing his wrist and looking at his watch, she shook her head. She couldn't be ready in one hour. "Four thirty."

"Emma thinks she'll need more time than that. "Four thirty?...Yes...Well, I'd say we need to leave for the opera at seven, maybe seven thirty if traffic is good...Alright, we'll see you in a bit."

She wiggled her fingers for the phone.

"Emma needs to talk to you for a minute, Mr. Hoplin." He handed over the phone.

She took it and set a hand on his chest. Her eyes remained fixed on him as she spoke. "Dad?"

"Hi, birthday girl! Mom wanted me to call and arrange pick-up time. She's tearing around cleaning and cooking. We're excited to see you."

"Hey, Dad, I forgot to mention that he has some difficulty eating, so he prefers to dine alone beforehand-" Jason's face didn't change expression.

"Becky! Emma needs to talk. Here, I'm sure Mom will have questions about what to serve."

"Hi, baby."

"Mom, I told Dad I forgot to mention Jason is going to eat beforehand. He has some trouble with it from the accident."

"Oh. Does he like coffee or something instead?"

She kept her eyes on him in case he corrected her. "No, he prefers to not drink in front of anyone."

"We can't eat in front of him," her mom fretted.

He held out his hand and raised his eyebrow in question.

She nodded. "Here, I'll put you on speaker. He's here." She hit the button.

"Hello. I'm sorry to cause trouble when it's a dinner," he said.

"No, no. It's no problem," her dad said.

"Is there anything we can have for you?" her mom asked.

"No, I'm alright, Mrs. Hoplin. I appreciate it. I understand it feels awkward to eat in front of someone not eating, but I honestly don't mind and want Emma to have an enjoyable birthday dinner with you." The dear man visibly swallowed pride for her. "My mouth on the burned side turns down, so even drinking is a bit unsightly."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Perhaps we should just have a visit?" Her mom sounded worried.

Disappointment pinged. If they had any future together, her parents couldn't avoid all meals with him. Half of family functions consisted of food.

"I appreciate your hospitality. I'll give the phone back to Emma to discuss with you what she wants to do." He handed it back and started to go to give her privacy.

Catching his arm, she searched his eyes and held the phone against her chest. "Are you alright with being there? I want you to come."

"I'll do whatever makes you happy, sweetheart. Talk to your parents." His eyes held a gentleness but understanding that this was a difficult situation. He brushed a kiss over her brow. Then he stepped out.

"Mom?" She lowered her voice. "I really like him. This is such a big step for him to have even agreed to letting me tell you about the accident."

"Have you seen his scars?" Her dad sounded worried.

"He's not comfortable with that yet. Why?"

"I remember hearing about the fire in the news. Has he told you about the accident?"

"Not much, but I think he will soon. I promised I wouldn't search the Internet but wait until he's ready to say."

"It was pretty tragic, Emma. I have a lot of respect for him for what he did that night, but his scars won't run just skin deep. And you have to think about what it'd be like being in public with people staring. People aren't kind, pumpkin. I want to make sure you're taking it slow."

"I know. But, Dad, I really want you guys to meet him. He's so amazing. I'd like him there for dinner conversation."

"Alright, baby," her mom said. "Just be careful. This dating him and him being your boss has me worried."

"I will, Mom. See you in a bit."

She trotted through the halls.

"He's getting ready, don'tcha know," Trudy said when they passed each other. "Then you get yourself in your room so we have time to make you shine like a balloon on St. Patty's Day."

"I'll be there in five minutes." She trotted down the hall and skidded to a halt a his door. Raising her hand, she rapped on the door.

"Come in!"

She burst inside with a grin as wide as a river. He stood beside in bare feet and wearing only pants. He looked surprised. She rushed at him and flung her arms around his neck.

He barely moved from her weight. "Is everything alright?" His arms wrapped around her.

"You're coming to dinner. I feel like I'm going to explode," she beamed and let go.

He laughed. "Please don't."

She set a hand on his chest and stood on her toes. He bent down a bit to accomodate her. With a hearty kiss, her hands explored his hard chest, stroking and carressing. Then she backed up. "I gotta get ready."

He looked slightly dazed. "You are so lucky I won't take advantage of you."

"Or what?" she laughed.

He stalked toward her, with a look that promised dark pleasure.

She giggled and backed up. Grabbing her wrist, he pushed her down on the bed on her back and climbed on top. She caught her lip between her teeth and smiled.

"Or you would be writhing with pleasure for hours," he growled and pinned her arms above her head to hold down with one hand. Then he pressed his thigh between her legs and grabbed her breast through her sweater.

"Are you going to punish me, Dr. Port?" she smiled. Oh, she shouldn't be egging him on, but it was so erotic seeing him aggressive when he had such a big heart.

"How I _want_ to punish you isn't decent to discuss," he growled and squeezed her breast just enough. Then his mouth crushed down on hers, his hot tongue swirling through her mouth.

Heat curled in her belly at the excitement of it. The tips of her breasts hardened under his touch, and she gasped into his mouth. Then he started rubbing his thigh between her legs, creating glorious friction. His tongue plundered and demanded. "Let me hear your pleasure," he whispered against her lips. His thigh pressed harder.

She whimpered with desire, the swelling of pleasure between her thighs making her rub against him.

"Emma, you're making me so hard," he panted as she rocked. "I want to rip your clothes off and sink into you, sweetheart." His hips shifted to press his unyielding arousal against her hip.

She tried to squirm so their hips aligned, needing his arousal against where she burned for him.

For some reason, he shifted back so his thigh pressed between her legs. Him and his damn sense of chivalry. Then he thrusted hard and furious, the bed creaking with his force.

A wave crashed into her, and she arched up. She cried out into his mouth as he forced an orgasm so hard and fast the pleasure almost hurt. A strange sensation swept down her body, and she tensed before it all exploded. She trembled with the release, floating on a cloud and basking in the afterglow. Then it started to dawn that she was wet. Very wet. Oh dear heaven, had she just wet herself? Her eyes shot open to see his eye roll back in pleasure, his erection throbbing against her leg with each beat of his heart.

"Oh dear god," he whispered. "You are so orgasmic." His forehead rested on her shoulder, and he released her hands.

His pantleg must be wet. "Jason," she panicked and pressed against his chest.

He didn't budge. "No, Emma," he mumbled against her shoulder. "You got so aroused you had the female equivalent of ejaculation," he sighed in pleasure.

"What?"

Slowly dragging himself off of her, he pulled her to her feet, his eye half hooded with desire. She glanced down to see his pants straining quite a bit. "Go before I get you pregnant," he croaked, his voice so deep and husky.

A shiver of desire ran down her back. Carrying his baby seemed like anything but a threat. But she slipped out of his room anyway, her knees quivering and body still throbbing from his touch.


	26. Chapter 26

A little less than two hours later, she stood before her vanity mirror. Trudy had swept up her brown hair and piled it in curls, held by a diamond barrette. Ringlets cascaded down her back in elegant strands. The red earrings dangled from her exposed earlobes, and the red necklace gave the illusion of an elongated neck like a swan. The red dress sat off the shoulder and scooped low enough to hint at sexuality without exposing cleavage. The gown clung to her curves, accentuating her small breasts and hips to look like an hourglass figure. Starting at her lower hips, the skirt and overlapping chiffon glided down to her toes where silver shoes peeked out.

For not wearing makeup, Trudy was very good at applying it. Red lipstick accentuated her mouth. Her eyes were painted smokey black, lending an exotic almond shape and bringing out the hazel irises.

"I don't look like me," she said quietly with a frown, her heart beating fast.

Trudy's reflection beamed at her in the mirror. "You look like how he sees you, don'tcha know," she replied softly.

The crease of worry left her brow, and she turned around to Trudy. "Thank you." She stepped forward to hug her.

Trudy stepped back. "No, you aren't wrinkling my masterpiece. Go make him fall in love," she smiled, her eyes so warm. She held out the silver purse. "Here's makeup for touching up, tissues, and your phone." Then she blinked back tears. "Go get your prince, Cinderella."

She flushed and smiled, taking the clutch. "Thank you," she whispered. Taking a step into the hall, her heart beat fast. Tonight would change everything with him, for better or for worse. She slowly walked down the hall with butterflies in her stomach and hesitation in each step. What if things didn't go well? He shouldn't meet her parents yet. A first date and meeting them was too much pressure. Everything would fall apart. Her knees trembled. If she lost him, her heart would shatter. No one had ever moved her so deeply. Her chest hurt with each pound of her heartbeat. She reached the top of the stairs and looked over the balcony to the left.

He stood at the bottom of the stairs looking down and adjusting the cuffs of his tuxedo. The custom fit and black accentuated his trim waist and broad shoulders. Shoulders that didn't need any padding.

She took a deep breath and descended. This wasn't a good idea. What if he and her parents didn't get along? What if things were awkward on the date? She wore too much makeup. The dress was probably indecently tight. This was a mistake. When she reached the landing, her breathing was choppy. She couldn't make her feet go down more stairs to him.

He looked up and stilled. His eye softened. The unmistakable look of love reached right to her soul and steadied the frantic beating of her heart. He took a step and slowly climbed toward her, not breaking the gaze. She started down the stairs toward him, her knees growing stronger. When she met him in the middle, he remained two steps below and gazed up at her in adoration. No words needed to be spoken, and yet he said everything.

He extended a hand. She set her hand in his, ready to descend with him. Instead, he lifted her hand to his lips and brushed a kiss over the back of her knuckles. Her heart stumbled and melted. "Stunning," he whispered, his eye so gentle.

A blush crept up her face, and she dropped her eyes to his chest. She opened her mouth to say he looked handsome, but he closed the distance between them and brushed his lips over hers. When he pulled back, he held a short-stemmed red rosebud and tucked it in her hair near the barrette. "I saw this in the arboretum today, growing when the other roses struggle in winter. It struck me as so beautiful and strong." Then he looked at her. "It reminded me of you," he said, his voice husky.

Her knees weakened.

He offered his arm. She slipped her hand through and gazed at him, unable to remember how to speak.

He led her down and stopped at the door. Pete stood at the ready in a formal black coat and held two dress coats, smiling at her. Jason held up a long black dress coat and helped her in. She smiled. He'd remembered about the furs. Then his hands brushed over the back of her neck and thoughtfully lifted her curls so they wouldn't be crushed as he pulled up her coat. Then he pulled on his own coat.

Pete held the door. She looked over her shoulder up the stairs and saw Trudy smiling. She lifted her hand and smiled.

Jason's eye followed, and he smiled when he saw Trudy. Then he set a hand on her lower back and guided her out to the car. He opened the door for her and helped sweep her dress inside. Then he closed the door and walked around to get in the back beside her.

When he sat, Pete started the car and glanced in the rearview mirror. "The airport, Dr. Port?"

"Yes, please." The car started forward.

She couldn't come up with a single thing to say or do besides blush.

"Is everything alright?" he asked and slipped his hand into hers in her lap.

Biting her lip, she nodded. "You look handsome," she said, her voice softer than intended.

He looked at her for a moment, as if unsure if he had heard her correctly. Then he slowly smiled. "Thank you, sweetheart."

Had no one said it since the accident? She flushed and looked out the window when his gaze grew too intense. "Does Pete drive you everywhere?" she asked softly. Then she looked at him.

With a slow nod, he said, "I have too much trouble with depth perception on the winding mountain roads. Normal town roads when miscalculation doesn't mean going off a cliff are easier."

Her brow furrowed with regret for him.

His hand tightened in hers, and he tensed as he glanced out her window.

She looked at him in question.

"That is where we found you."

She looked to see a small tree bashed in and barely staying upright over the edge of a steep cliff. It shouldn't have held the weight of a car. A shiver ran down her spine.

They road just a few more minutes in companionable silence.

A white jet sat out in a small airport runway. Pete pulled up the car and got out as Jason unbuckled. Pete opened Jason's door, and Jason walked around to open hers. Then he offered his arm and lead her to the plane. "Have you ever flown?"

"Not besides the chopper."

He helped her up the steps. It was a luxury jet, with leather seats, reclining chairs, a tiny kitchen, and several other amenities. He led her to the first pair of seats and helped her sit.

An attractive woman about her own age wearing a navy blue dress suit came out from the cockpit. "Welcome, Ms. Hoplin and Dr. Port. I'm Jessica, and I'll be your attendant," the woman said to her. "May I offer you champaign or-"

"Ms. Wilson," Jason interrupted and shook his head. "We won't need your services this evening, thank you."

"Yes, sir." She disappeared back into the cockpit.

She looked at Jason expectantly.

"A pilot and attendant are required to be contracted from this airport in exchange for using the landing strip," he explained. "When I travel on business, I request Ms. Wilson because she is very good about making sure my laptop is charged and everything when I need. I've also had trouble with attendants overlooking the mask."

She nodded and looked out the window.

"Purely professional, I assure you."

Her eyes returned to him. "I didn't doubt it was," she frowned.

He nodded.

He seemed to be waiting for the conversation to extend. "I'm not jealous." She had to bite back a smile.

"Good." He looked out the window but seemed slightly disappointed.

"Do you want me to be jealous?"

He looked at her. "No. Well...maybe a tad."

She laughed, and his shoulders relaxed. "Alright, for a split instant I did wonder if there was a history," she said.

He failed miserably at hiding a smile. "It's a good sign for a girlfriend to care enough to be a little jealous sometimes," he winked. "I hate all of your ex-boyfriends by default, by the way." He waved a hand in dismissal like they weren't worth his time. The plane ascended, the roaring of the engines preventing any conversation for a few seconds.

"I only have one ex."

"Whom I would like to smash his face," he growled.

She didn't want to discuss him tonight. Cocking her head, she searched his face. "Am I your girlfriend?"

He looked directly at her. "I'd like you to be."

She blushed. He certainly didn't seem to lack any confidence this evening. And it was sexy in a way that made her proud he was finding himself again. Soft romantic music began playing overhead.

The lights of cities glittered like fireflies below. She leaned over in her seat to look out her window. "It's so beautiful," she whispered in awe. Something brushed her knee.

Jason knelt at her feet and pointed out the window. "That is likely Denver, and that cluster is..."

His words faded out as she watched his face. He practically glowed with happiness. It was sad that it could be counted on one hand how many times she'd witnessed him like this. He looked at her and stopped. "Is everything alright?"

Reaching down, she stroked his cheek. "You look so happy."

He smiled. "I'm have the world's most beautiful woman tonight. Why shouldn't I be?" His voice was husky and intimate. When she flushed, he changed the topic. "Tell me about your childhood." He took her hand.

"There's not all that much to say. Mom was a teacher and stayed home after I was born. Dad has a classified job I'm not supposed to talk about, but he's not a field agent or anything like that."

He cracked a smile. "Ah. Hence the FBI contacts."

She smiled. "Mom had complications after I was born, so I'm the only child. Dad provided, and I grew up in the middle class. I went to Catholic school and attended church on Sundays. I caused my share of trouble but wasn't wild. I never broke a bone or needed stitches..." She shrugged.

He frowned. "If you want to be attending church, you can use Stevens whenever you wish."

A shy smile crept up. "I sorta did on Sunday."

He nodded. "It's your home, so you're free to do what you like."

"Do you go to church?"

"I used to. There are stares, and the children seem afraid." He shrugged. "I usually go sit on Monday mornings when it's quiet. The priest leaves it open for me until ten o'clock."

Her eyebrows rose in surprise. "May I go with you sometime?"

He blinked but nodded.

"What about your childhood?"

He sighed and stared out the window. "My father was a nonabusive alcoholic who died from liver failure when I was twelve. He couldn't hold down a job, so I grew up in a trailer home."

She had to force a sterile expression.

"My mother wasn't very educated and worked three jobs to make ends meet, so I got in a lot of trouble being on my own." He suddenly looked so embarrassed. "I got messed up with some kids and got arrested at seventeen as an accomplice for grand auto theft."

She did a double take. Dr. Perfect was an ex con?

"Thankfully the judge didn't charge me as an adult, so I only spent a year in juvenile hall and got my record wiped. When I got out, my mother was terrified I'd be a convict, so she shoved me in the army. I was so pis-" He glanced at her. "Er, upset that I even mouthed off to the boot camp sergant." He shook his head. "You don't do that to a superior, much less in boot camp, unless you have a death wish. He saw potential in me and pushed me harder than the other messed up kids." He sighed from the depths of his soul. "I still had a tough edge. They try to break you in boot camp, especially the punks like me. Then they teach you respect and morals. I was stubborn as hell and wouldn't break. I think I passed boot camp on sheer bullheadedness because I broke every record to spite the sergant. He recommended me to the SEALS." He started to get up. "My apologies, I'm rambling."

"No." She caught his arm. "You never talk about yourself. What happened after you joined?"

He returned to his seat. "One of the candidates was ten years older and ended up being my roommate. Our first night, I mouthed off to the poor soul and got socked in the mouth. We didn't dare tell anyone because we would've both been kicked out. He wanted to be a SEAL; I wanted to spite everyone who said I wouldn't be better than my father. By morning, we tolerated each other. Within three days, he was like the big brother I desperately needed. I think he's what straightened me out more than anything." He smoothed a hand down the front of his coat. "When we got out, we went our separate ways with our assignments, but we kept in touch sporatically." He smiled to himself. "We ended up in the same class in med school a could years later and ended up being roommates again. I suppose you could say he was a bit like a dad. He used to come home with me on breaks because his parents were always traveling to some exotic location, but he never said a word about my home being a dumpy old trailer. Once we got out of med school, we saved up and found my mom this incredibly gaudy house far too big for one person." He laughed to himself. "We thought pink siding and blue shutters were perfect for a woman. We bought it for her. When she saw it, she said it was the ugliest thing that rivaled dog shit, excuse the expression." He smiled at her.

She smothered a laugh.

"My mother was not very articulate. But she said she loved it because her boys had bought it, and it was all hers. It was the first thing more expensive than a dress that had ever been hers. She only had it a handful of years before passing. Now I'm here." He shrugged.

"Do you still talk to him?"

He slowly shook his head and looked away out his window. "He died a few years ago too," he said quietly.

"I'm sorry," she said. But he seemed to close the door, as if at his limit of sharing for the time being. Everyone who had ever been something to him had died. He looked so alone that she got up and sat in his lap.

Looking at her, he blinked and then smiled. "You're a physical person, aren't you?"

She brushed a kiss over his lips. "You've never opened up like that. What on earth did that therapist do that's made you do a one-eighty in a week?" she smiled.

He seemed to consider his words carefully and looked her in the eye, but he kept his hands on the armrests. "She pointed out that someone as warm as you wouldn't survive my coldness of self-preservation, that I'd lose you," he said quietly. Grief reflected in his eye. "She suggested that I tell you something personal each time we have an interaction." He looked a bit embarrassed but didn't look away. "She said to trust your lead, and that you would light up each time I open up. She's right." His brow furrowed. "It draws you closer for some reason."

She ran her hand over the unburned side of his neck. "Because women like a big burly man who has a soft underbelly."

He laughed. "That is an ironic contradiction."

A very slow romance song played quietly in the background. "Is it bad if I tell you something naughty?" She shyly bit her lip.

His expression froze. "Emma, if you ask a man that and he denies, there's something insanely wrong with him."

She laughed and then looked up at him from beneath her lashes, running her finger down the side of his face. "You're so strong and just a hint arrogant with the world. It's so sexy to be the one to see the soft side of you." Then she leaned in and lightly flicked her tongue over his earlobe. She whispered, with tenderness swelling in her chest, "I want you to push me down and make love to me in your bed." Before he could respond, she got up and held out her hand.

His eye was slightly dilated with desire, but he took her hand with a look of curiosity.

She took a couple steps away and felt him stand. Shrugging off her coat, she dropped it in her chair. Then she turned to him with her heart on her sleeve, and backed up to the back of the plane where there was some space.

He followed, his brow furrowed slightly.

This feeling of needing him close danced and swelled with the music. She slowly pulled him closer until they stood toe to toe. Then her arm wrapped around his shoulder and she held his hand in hers against his heart. Her head rested against his chest, and she closed her eyes as she started swaying with the music.

He drew a shakey breath and his hand tightened in hers, as if she'd just shattered his damaged heart and put it back together to be whole again for the fist time. His arm held her close as he slowly started a gentle dance with her.

The chill in the winter air nipped at her bare arms and shoulders, but there was something about the music or dancing or maybe the way he held her that was so magical it would break the spell to let go of him. He swayed them gently, a perfect rhythm to melt a heart. Trudy had said to make him fall in love tonight, but he was sweeping _her_ away so effortlessly that she didn't want to fight it.

He pulled away for a moment and removed his coat to drape it over her shoulders. His scent and warmth wrapped around her in the oversized jacket. It nearly fell off her small shoulders and the knee-length hem almost brushed her ankles. He wrapped his arms around her, and she rested her hands and cheek on his chest, cocooned in the heat of his coat. His cheek rested against her hair. He softly hummed to the music, his voice vibrating deep and low in his chest. Her eyes slowly fluttered closed, never having heard such a beautiful sound.

The love and adoration for him were so overwhelming. Never had she wanted anything more than to hear the words that weren't ready to be said. He'd as much as admitted earlier that he was beginning to fall in love. For now. it was enough.


	27. Chapter 27

**Word of Warning: Don't leave fanfiction logged in on your mobile device and then log in from a desktop to write 2 chapters. It tells you it's saving, but when you return to the first electronic you were logged in to, it will have erased everything. I wrote 6K words from a different location directly into Doc Manager on fanfic, and 8 hours later when I transferred to my iPad at home, they were all gone. I'm so mad I can't stand it. I almost published it before returning home but didn't. The chapters were so perfect. I'll clean typos after work.**

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"We will be reaching our destination in three minutes," the attendant's voice cut over the music through the speaker.

She sighed as he slowly let her go. He took her by the hand and led her back to the seats. She handed over his coat, and he helped her put hers on before slipping on his. Then she turned to him, his eye so tender she ached to tell him she loved him.

"We need to buckle for landing," he said and cupped her jaw.

Her eyes fluttered closed for a moment at his touch before she reluctantly sat.

The plane landed smooth and easy. She glanced out the window to see her parents standing out there by the car, with big smiles on their faces. As soon as the plane stopped, she unbuckled and stepped over to him, nibbling her lip.

"Is everything alright?" he frowned and stood.

"Jason, you don't have to do this. I sprung it on you, and it's way too soon when this is technically our first date." Her stomach churned.

He searched her face without emotion. "I'll stay here if you want me to."

She shook her head. "I'm just...I'm scared that if things don't go well..."

Taking her hands, he held her eyes. "Emma, I promise they will be so worried knowing we're courting, living under the same roof, and that I'm technically your boss for eight hours of the day. They need to meet me. I don't want them to worry, and I don't want you stressed. Plus, I want to meet them. They're a big part of your life, sweetheart. You've met who I have for family."

"Trudy and Pete are employees," she countered.

"They're the closest I have, Emma," he replied quietly. "If I don't get along with your parents, it's best for you to know that sooner rather than later." He slipped her arm through his and led her down the plane steps.

Her mom danced on her toes near the car but finally ran over with her arms outstretched. "Happy birthday, baby!" She crushed her in a hug.

Her arm pulled out of Jason's. "Mom, can't breathe," she half laughed and half gasped. When her mom finally released her, she linked her arm through Jason's. "You two sort of met."

Jason held out a hand. "It's a pleasure to see you again, Mrs. Hoplin. Thank you for inviting me."

Her mom didn't bat an eye at his mask and shook his hand. "It's lovely to have you. Emma's never brought a man home for dinner before." Her mom smiled at her, not seeming to notice her turn five shades of embarrassed.

Her dad walked over and hugged her. "Happy birthday, pumpkin." Then he stepped back and looked tight about the mouth at Jason.

Jason jumped to it before she could. "Jason. It's nice to meet you in person, sir." He held out his hand.

Her dad just glared at him. "You think you're going to shack up with my daughter now that you're dating?"

Oh god. This was the beginning of the disaster. She and her mom looked at each other.

Jason lowered his hand. "No, sir. Emma and I have started talking about alternate arrangements."

His eyes pierced Jason. "You and I are going to have a talk," he ordered. Then he spun on his heel and stormed to the car. He got in the driver's side and slammed the door.

Her hand tightened on Jason's arm.

"He's been very tense since hearing about you dating this afternoon," her mom filled in.

"Mrs. Hoplin, if it would be less tense if he and I just talk in the plane and I can stay here...I shouldn't be the source of tension and ruin Emma's birthday."

Her mom shook her head. "Come along. I think he just needs to get this 'talk' out of his system. He seemed to like you before today."

They walked to the car in silence, but Jason patted her hand in reassurance. He opened the doors for her and her mom and then walked around to get in the back seat beside her.

The deepest parts of her stomach churned, threatening to bring up meals from the last thirty years. She and her mom tried to keep up conversation. Her dad just glared at Jason in the rearview mirror. Jason held her hand in the backseat and kept his answers short, seeming aware of the death looks from the front seat. The conversation fell flat after a couple minutes. Thankfully the ride home was short.

Her dad pulled into the drive in front of the blue ranch house. "In the den. Now." He got out and slammed the door.

Jason released a deep breath. "Tell Trudy and Stevens that you get a third of the inheritance if he kills me."

"Jason, I'm sorry-"

He shook his head. "He's just watching out for you. I don't think I'd respect him if he blindly welcomed me." He slid out of the car and walked around to help them out. He glanced over the car to where her dad waited impatiently on the front step. "I'd better go." He followed her dad into the house.

"Don't look so glum, baby." Her mom wrapped an arm around her shoulders to lead her inside. "Dad just wants to watch out for you. He needs to get this off his chest is all."

"What if they kill each other?" She nibbled her lip and went through the door.

"There's not yelling, so that's good," her mom teased. When she took off her coat, her mom gasped. "Oh, baby, you look beautiful. Look at how grown up you look." She started dabbing at her eyes.

"I've been a grownup for awhile." She cracked a smile. The men's voices mumbled low through the den door off the livingroom.

Her mom went into the kitchen and started digging out food to cook. "We're having your favorite-mashed potatoes, pasta salad, fruit salad, and cake."

She walked over. A distraction was more than welcomed. "What do you want me to do?"

"Nothing. You sit, birthday girl."

Sitting still while World War III was about to happen made her jittery, so she set the table for three. Then she nibbled her lip and glanced at the clock. They'd been in there for ten minutes. "I can't take this. I gotta go make sure they're both alive."

She knocked on the door and the voices stopped.

"Come in," her dad called.

She peeked inside. Jason sat on the leather sofa looking tense and her dad stood on the other side of the coffee table with his arms crossed over his chest. "I was just checking that there's no blood."

"No. I think we're done." Her dad's eyes returned to Jason. "Just remember I know how to do that. And a man can survive being castrated like that."

Her mouth fell open. "Oh my god! Dad!" She marched in and pushed her dad toward the door. "If you can't be nice, go help Mom."

He planted his feet in the doorway. "Remember what I said." He pointed a finger at Jason.

She shut the door on him and turned to Jason.

He took a deep breath like he started breathing again. His eye stared straight ahead. "Your dad scares the shit out of me."

The poor man must be shaken because he practically never cursed. She walked over and sat down beside him. "Do you want to go?" Her heart pounded, afraid of his answer.

With a slow shake of his head, he turned his head to look at her. "I'm not giving up now that he's got that off his chest." He stood. "Now it's time to get to know each other."

The man was either stupid or smitten. Either way, it stole her heart that he kept trying.

He pulled her to her feet and led her out to the kitchen where her dad worked at the stove and her mom at the breakfast bar.

"Are you sure there isn't anything I can fix you? Or would you like to eat by yourself in the kitchen first?" her mom asked as she mashed potatoes in a big pot.

"No, thank you. I'm fine. Is there anything we can help with?"

"No. Birthday girl doesn't make her own supper," her mom said. "We're good." She sounded a little breathless.

He pulled out a chair and helped her sit. Then he pulled off his tux jacket and slung it over the back of a chair and rolled up his sleeves. "Here, I can do that. Those get stubborn sometimes." He stepped over to her mom and held out his hand for the masher.

Her dad tried not to crack a smile behind them at the stove. Her mouth fell open. He'd been testing Jason to see if he'd help her mom.

"Thank you." Her mom brushed her bangs out of her eyes.

The shoulders of Jason's shirt strained as he mashed with little effort. "You have quite a flowerbed out front, Mrs. Hoplin. Do you enjoy gardening?"

Leave it to Jason to figure out a way to someone's heart. She smiled and sat back. This was certainly interesting seeing the billionaire doctor literally roll up his sleeves and get to work.

Her mom's face lit up. "How ever did you know? It's dark and half the flowerbed is covered in snow."

He smiled. "The rose cones and shepherds hooks were a give away."

"I spend spring and summer in the front and back yards tending to my flowers." She brought over some fruit and started cutting it beside him.

"May I ask you for some advice? Your rose cones are quite large. I have the hardest time growing roses outside and getting them through winter. Do you prune yours in the fall?"

"Only enough so the cones fit. Otherwise, I let them grow wild. They seem stronger that way."

He stopped mashing and looked at her in surprise. "Really? I've been reading and going on forums tryingfigure out what I'm doing wrong. This lady on a forum said the same thing, and I thought she was crazy. I guess I stand corrected," he smiled.

Her mom blinked. "JPRoses?"

He stared. "WutheringHeightsFlowers?"

Her mom laughed and nodded.

He belly laughed and looked at her, nodding toward her mom. "I guess I've been chatting with your mom."

She laughed, glad they already got along.

"Do you really have an arboretum?" Her mom continued cutting fruit but seemed even more intrigued with him than a moment ago.

He nodded and resumed mashing. Her dad walked over and dropped more potatoes in his pot. Jason only hesitated for a split second, as if unsure if her dad was being a jerk or not. "I do. I built it only because I couldn't get anything to live through winter otherwise. Last summer I think I kept it too warm because twenty of my rosebushes got Black Spot. Almost lost the lot of them."

Her mom looked horrified. "Did you use fungicide? I heard it's hard to save the roses."

He shook his head and looked at her. "Sulphur. It's actually a historical remedy, but it works quite well. Just spray it on the leaves, and it prevents the spores from attaching. The greenhouse smelled awful for a couple weeks, but it worked. I just hope the bushes come back strong this spring." They continued talking about gardening for a few minutes.

"What kind of patents do you do?" her dad cut in after a bit. It sounded like an exam.

Jason scraped the potatoes into a bowl her mom gave him. "Cardio mainly. The most recent is a new device for removing plaque from the aorta. I've been working with a physician in London, and the clinical trials have been very promising. We hope to get a Europe and US patent this summer."

"You're a cardiologist, aren't you?"

Jason nodded. "I keep up my license, but I don't practice for obvious reasons." He set down the pan.

"I'm sure some patients wouldn't think much of it." It was the first time her dad sounded compassionate toward Jason.

He walked the bowl over to where she sat at the table. "I don't think many patients would be clamoring for a surgeon with one eye to hack open their chest and perform risky cardiac surgery." He shrugged. "I'm happy with my work."

But he seemed slightly sad. It had never occurred to her that he might like to talk about work. Everything about him seemed so...private. She looked up at him. "But you miss it?" she asked softly for his ears alone.

He held her eyes. "I would be gone a lot more, though."

She gave him a soft smile. "I like having you around," she whispered.

"What about these charities?" her dad asked.

Jason whipped around. "There are some things I haven't discussed with Emma yet."

Her dad nodded. "Not a man to boast. I like that."

"Would you get out the milk?" her mom asked. He walked over to the fridge and dug it out.

"What charities?" she frowned.

Jason shook his head and started filling the glasses.

Her dad walked over with the pasta. "Emma said you haven't told her about the accident yet." Poor Jason seemed to tense. "Don't let what people say determine what you do." This sounded like her dad. He looked Jason in the eye. "I admire what you did that night. It was very tragic, and few would have tried to do what you did."

Jason set down the milk and kept his eye downcast, very solemn all of the sudden.

Her dad set a hand on his shoulder. "You've paid a dear price. There's a part that you'll always have to pay, but it's time to stop paying the other part," he said gently.

Jason's lips pressed together and tears glistened in his downcast eye. He slowly shook his head in disagreement. "If I'd seen it-"

"'Ifs' don't exist in real life. You can drive yourself crazy with them. What happened is done, and you need to forgive yourself. Even if others won't, you do."

She stared at them. Whatever her dad was talking about must have to do with the accident. Something about it tortured Jason. He blamed himself for something. She started to get up to go to him.

"May I use your restroom?" he croaked.

"Down the hall on the left," her mom said, sounding so sad for him.

He sidestepped her and shut the door. She turned to her dad, so furious she could spit nails. "What are you talking about? Why is he so upset?" she demanded. "He is my guest! You can't-"

Her dad looked her straight in the eye. "People blame and shun him for what happened. He deserves to know that he is supported in this house."

Her words died on her lips.

Her dad pointed at the bathroom and his voice sounded a tad choked up. "You marry a man like that." Then he returned to the stove and started making gravy for the potatoes.

She went to the bathroom and lifted her hand to knock just as he stepped out. His eye was a bit red, and he didn't quite look at her. "Are you alright?" She pulled him down the hall a bit for privacy.

He nodded.

"Jason, I'm sorry-" Her heart twisted. This night got worse and worse for him.

He shook his head. "I'm just so used to hate and repulsion that I wasn't ready for someone to jump on my side. To forgive me."

"Will you tell me what happened? I would be on your side." She frowned and searched his pained face, aching to help him.

"I know you would. Not tonight. It's your birthday." Before she could argue, he took her hand and led her back to the kitchen.

He proved to be quite the conversationalist for such a quiet man. He kept it going while they ate. He took a cup of water just to appease her mom's guilt, but he wasn't able to drink a sip of it.

"Do your parents have any of your sketches around? I've noticed you sketch landscapes in the corners of work papers when you get frustrated."

She stopped midchew and looked at him with huge eyes, shaking her head frantically.

"Oh! I have lots of her work!" Her mom bounced up and ran down the hall.

Her dad groaned in his cup. "Here comes the thirty-year history."

Jason looked at her with a tentative smile. "Did I open a can of worms?"

"Here they are!" Her mom came running out.

She groaned.

"This is her first picture when she was eight months old." She set down a one-inch purple line picture on the table in front of him.

He smiled. "That's very straight for an infant. A child prodigy in the making."

Her mom went through year by year. Jason had a praising comment for each one.

"These are only her best ones. There are more in the basement."

"Hey! What about that one I made of a macaroni heart in first grade? That took two days to make," she protested.

"And one hour for a mouse to eat," her mom commented, half paying attention.

Jason and her dad burst out laughing.

"This is her high school project." Her mom set down a self-portrait done in charcoal.

"Wow. Emma, this is really good. It looks like a real picture..." He frowned when he read the teacher's comment in the corner. "Not detailed enough?" He snorted and held up a hand. "What, should you draw at the cellular level?"

"See? It is good," her mom looked at her pointedly. "She has some from a college class, but I don't show those to anybody."

"Mom! It wasn't porn!"

Jason looked shocked.

"It was a naked model class," her dad filled in. "I told Becky that artists are their own breed, and Emma was mature enough to take the class."

He nodded. "I've seen plenty of art in museums showing nude paintings of people. It's about the art of the human spirit. There's something about just the body that brings out the emotion."

She held a hand out at Jason and looked at her mom. "See?"

"Anyways." Her mom set down an oil painting in front of him. "She made this for me last Mother's Day after lots of begging. She won't make art anymore."

He leaned closer. "Emma, this is exquisite. It's the Rockies, isn't it?" Then he leaned closer. He saw it. "Is this...?" He pointed to a well-defined shadow on the side of the mountain.

"It's your house," she said softly. "I had no idea what it was at the time." She held his tender gaze.

"Why don't you paint or sketch anymore?"

She shrugged. "I have to see something to create it. My professor said its just copying, not art." She picked at the food on her plate.

"Then your professor never really looked at your work."

He said it so matter of fact that she looked at him. His eye cut straight to her heart.

"That's what Dad and I said. See? We weren't biased," her mom cut in, breaking the spell.

But somehow Jason's words wiped away most of the self-consciousness and doubts.

"Time for cake!" Her mom bustled away with the pictures.

Jason's hand slipped into hers under the table, and he gave a soft smile. Her dad smiled to himself from the head of the table next to Jason.

Her face burned with embarrassment when her mom had all thirty candles on the cake and it looked like a bonfire. They sang Happy Birthday.

"Are you sure you don't want any? You could have it in the den or something," she whispered in his ear as he bent his head down to hear her.

He straightened. "It looks delicious, but I'm alright, thank you," he replied in hushed tones as her mom brought over plates.

"Is it the scarring by your mouth that gives you trouble?" her dad asked as she started cutting the cake.

Her head whipped up in shock. "Dad!"

Jason set a hand on the back of her chair and touched her back as he looked at her dad. Oh god, he looked humiliated but forced himself to answer. "The smoke inhalation damaged my esophagus enough that I can't swallow large pieces of food." That explained why he had been so slow eating the chicken in the hospital. "The burn on my face pulls my bottom lip down enough it isn't a pleasant affair to be dining company."

"Jason." She set a hand on his thigh to stop him. There was no need for her parents to know he had to constantly wipe his mouth while eating or that he needed to drink over a sink.

"It seems ashame to not be part of food social functions. I know a man who was badly injured by an IED, and plastic surgery in Boston restored his mouth fairly well."

"Dad-"

"Emma, the man should know there are options," he said gently.

"I have had several plastic surgeries, sir. Part of the problem is I lost muscle control on that side of my face. Even with surgery, several doctors have said I'd still be in the same boat because of that." He sat straight and looked her dad in the eye, but it was obviously painful for him to admit.

The desire to throw her arms around him and shield him from the world was so strong she almost got up.

Her dad nodded. "Sorry to hear that. None of us would think a thing of it if you would like to sit at the table next time; otherwise, I insist we set you up in the den by yourself or with Emma. You shouldn't go hungry. And life is too short to not eat Becky's cooking."

Her mom giggled, and her dad leaned over and pecked a kiss on her lips.

While they cleared the table, Jason took his water glass and disappeared into the bathroom. Pain stabbed at her chest that even the simple things like drinking water had to remind him he wasn't like everyone else.

When Jason came out, her parents gave their gifts in the living room. She got a couple shirts, a summer dress, and a GPS.

"This one isn't really a gift," her dad explained and handed her a jewlery-sized box gift wrapped in silver paper. "Jason helped with this."

"Your parents knew what you wanted and picked it out, I just handed over the funds. It's your salary for the next two weeks because I know you wanted to get this on your own." Jason watched her reaction.

She frowned. Maybe it was a bracelet, but that wouldn't take two-weeks worth of salary. She opened the box to see a set of car keys. "Oh my god! Really?!" she beamed, her eyes whipping to them. Her face hurt from smiling so big. "Like, there's a car to go with it?" Everyone laughed.

"It's in the garage," her dad laughed.

Shooting up before Jason could help her up, she ran to the back door in the kitchen. She opened the door and screamed.

A silver Thunderbird filled the garage. She darted out and climbed in the driver's seat. Jason came out and held the door for her parents as they put on their coats. He carried hers.

Her dad got in the passenger seat. "This has some modifications to make it safer for winter driving, but I don't want you speeding around in it in those mountains. Jason has a car made specially for those winter roads. Alright?"

She nodded and popped the hood. "Does it have a V6? Three hundred ninety eight horse power?"

Jason stood by her mom, his eyebrow sky high as she lifted the hood.

"My girl knows her cars," her dad said proudly as he got out.

Jason walked around to her and draped her coat around her shoulders. "You seem to know your way around an engine."

"Don't you?" Even the wires were still clean from the factory.

"How do you think I hotwired a car as a teenager?" he whispered with a wink.

"You two had better get going if you're going to be on time. I'll go put your gifts in a bag, pumpkin." Her dad disappeared inside.

"I'll be right back." Jason went inside too.

She closed the hood and looked at her mom. "We'd better make sure Dad doesn't try to castrate him."

She laughed and held the door. "Your father likes him." They hung back in the kitchen while the men were in the livingroom.

"Sir? I know Emma's been attacked on a couple occasions. I know this older couple in town who are very trustworthy and renting out a room. If she feels safer to remain at my house, I'd like to know it's alright with you and her mother. We would maintain separate rooms, and the housekeeper and my driver are always around."

Her father heaved a deep sigh. "Only if Emma feels safer there. If you treat her well, I'd honestly prefer a SEAL watching out for her than an old man. But I am by no means giving my blessing on you taking advantage of her."

"Of course not, sir. I also have more air miles than I could ever use, so I took the liberty of getting four round trip tickets so you and Mrs. Hoplin can come see Emma whenever you wish. There's plenty of room, so there's no need to call before dropping in. I've also told Emma she can use some tickets to come out whenever she wishes."

"Thank you. We worry about her being out there. She moved to get away from the memories of her apartment here, and she's been kind of hopping around, too nervous to settle in one spot for long. I have one year left until retirement, and then we're going to move closer once Emma settles somewhere." Her dad sounded worried.

"You look so beautiful." Her mom rearranged some curls and sniffled. "I can't believe how grown up you are." She crushed her in a hug and the men stepped out.

"Becky, Jason gave us tickets to see her," her dad said. "It's not like we can't drive out there either."

"I know. But thirty years ago tonight I held her for the first time." She started crying.

Her eyes teared. "Mom, I'll see you in a few weeks."

"I know."

Jason stepped forward and set a hand on her mom's shoulder. "You can come out this weekend. Or Emma can stay tonight for a long weekend if she wants." He looked at her.

She shook her head. "Mom, Dad and Jason look panicked by the tears." She gave a watery laugh.

Jason shook his head. "I'll never understand women. Tears seem to fit every emotion."

"Get used to it," her dad laughed and clapped him on the back. "I'll go move the car. I'm sure you'll want to drive it, pumpkin. Jason said he has a trustworthy guy who will bring it back here. We'll drive it out to you, or you can pick it up." He turned to Jason. "If you hurt her or get her pregnant, I don't care that you're a SEAL. A father's rage is more than a sufficient match." He pulled out his large Swiss Army pocketknife and started fiddling with it in his hand.

"Yes, sir." Jason sounded completely calm and like he completely believed him.

"Daddy! Stop it! Go move your car!"

He gave Jason a final glare and stepped out.

Her mom chuckled and brushed at her eyes. "You take care of my baby." She held out her arms.

He bent down and gave her a hug. "I will. Thank you for having me. It was so nice meeting you."

"You too." Then her mom hugged her again. "I love you."

"Love you, Mom."

Her dad came in the back door stomping the snow off his boots."Be careful in case it's slippery out there. Your gifts are in the trunk." He stepped over and gave her a hug. "Happy Birthday, pumpkin. I love you."

"Love you too, Dad."

Then he turned to Jason and shook his hand. "Remember I know how to use that knife. And I know guys who know how to keep a man alive," he growled and held Jason's hand tight.

Her mouth fell open. Jason paled just a little.

Her dad laughed and patted Jason's shoulder. "I'm kidding!"

Jason gave a nervous laugh.

Her dad instantly sobered and looked Jason in the eye, gripping his hand tight. "No, I'm not."

"Dad! We're leaving now." She pushed between them and pulled Jason along.

Jason opened her door and then got in the passenger side. He drew a deep breath. "Holy fuck, you're dad scares me shitless."

She started backing up while her parents waved from the garage. "He wouldn't let me leave with you if he hated you." She spotted her dad point to his eyes and then at Jason like he was watching him. He started playing with his knife again. She hit the brakes.

"No, I really prefer that you don't stop." Jason gave a forced laugh.

She pointed at her dad and gave him a look. He rolled his eyes and pocketed the knife. She backed up into the street and waved. "Ready for our date?"

"So ready." He sounded a little relieved. "You look very sexy in heels and driving a sports car, by the way," he smiled.

She laughed and hit the gas.


	28. Chapter 28

**Author's Note: Ahhh! 7 reviews in one chapter! :) I'm so glad new readers for the story have joined and like it! It's been far harder to gain readers in B&amp;B than Tinkerbell. Thanks for the reviews, Singingsilent, WritingPhotographer, Sophia, Guest (1), Guest (2), YazminXD, and Calico11852! And now there's 16 followers!**

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Twenty minutes early. She pulled into the parking ramp across the street from the opera house. Opening the door, she shifted her skirt to swing her legs out just as Jason came around. "I can get out on my own," she smiled.

"I know you can." He smiled and offered his hand as he pulled her out and to her feet. "It's simply good manners."

She flushed and slipped her arm through his as they started walking toward the stairwell from the second floor. "You have better manners than practically every man I know."

"My old roommate, Brian, came from old money and taught me a lot of things. He said the best way to show that you respect a woman is to be a gentleman. He taught me ballroom dancing using my mother. She wasn't light on her feet like you are," he chuckled. They reached the stairwell and he suddenly went silent. He held the railing and took a couple slow steps, almost as if he had trouble seeing the stairs.

She bit her lip. Saying something would embarrass him, but he probably wouldn't say if he had trouble with stairs. "Should we take the elevator?"

"No. I can't tell precise distance of stairs, so it takes a few steps to figure out the height." That tugged at her chest. To go from a SEAL in such perfect physical condition to disabilities and disfigurement would be so hard to adjust to, not to mention how much pride he seemed to have forced down his throat left and right. His speed picked up after another couple steps. "Let's go, Emma. As much as I wouldn't let anything happen to you, being in a deserted parking stairwell at night in Chicago isn't my top pick of places to be." They exited to the street.

"I have my own bodyguard." She beamed up at him and hugged his arm close.

He cracked a smile and his eye swept around them as they crossed a street corner. "Doesn't mean I'm not mortal, sweetheart." They crossed with a small group of other people. Most of his attention seemed to be dedicated to keeping an eye out for anything unusual in the January night in a bit of a deserted block.

She remained cuddled against his arm. This sense of complete safety hadn't existed since before Gaston attacked those few years ago. Here she was in Chicago, dressed up and sticking out like a rich sore thumb, and walking in the dark in January...but not an inkling of fear existed. It was exhilarating to feel such freedom. Jason would protect her, and he had the skill to make sure he didn't get seriously hurt either. "I feel so safe with you," she said in soft tones. What she wouldn't give to be at home right now and curled up in his lap in front of a roaring fire.

His eye swept down to her with a tender look, as if realizing the profoundness of that statement. "I hope you always do. It just about ripped my heart out when you had that panic attack and looked so scared of me."

She looked away. Tonight wasn't a night to spend discussing her ex. "My parents liked you."

With lips pressed together for a moment, he didn't seem to want to let the topic drop but he did. "As much as your dad scares me, I like him," he smiled.

"Really?" she beamed up at him. "He didn't scare Gaston like that the one time he met him. I think he feels guilty that things might not have happened if he had."

"Then he should do what he thinks will protect you." His voice held so much compassion. "I won't get scared off. You're worth every mini heart attack he gives me. Your dad has a soft underbelly. I think he and I will get along better each time we meet."

'Each time we meet.' That had to be a good sign that he wanted to keep dating. Her heart fluttered.

"I like your mom. She's obviously proud of you and likes to dote on her baby," he smiled.

She flushed.

"It's a good thing, Emma." He set his hand over hers on his arm. "Mothers should be like that."

They approached the theater. Maybe she should repeat what her dad had said about marrying a man like Jason. It might give Jason more confidence with her dad. Her dad obviously didn't want to push her too hard toward Jason, but he never would have made that comment if he wouldn't give his blessing if Jason ever proposed. Her dad seemed to already know Jason was a man who would be an amazing spouse. Mentioning marriage now and then might get Jason to rethink his view of not marrying. But it might make him shut down too. He wasn't even ready to say 'I love you,' but it shined in his eye every time he looked at her. She definitely couldn't tell him yet that she wanted two or three kids because he would walk away, not wanting to deny her what he thought he couldn't give. He'd be a wonderful father. She glanced up at his profile. He seemed genuinely pleased with how things had gone with her parents. That was a start.

The sweet man held the door for her, and she stepped through to the lobby. She had to tell him before she chickened out. Taking a deep breath, she spun around to him.

He grabbed her shoulders to keep from plowing her over. "Whoa, sweetheart," he smiled. "Did you forget something?"

"No." Turning her face up to him, she searched his kind blue eye. The love and tenderness, attraction and devotion, hopes and dreams all welled up until her heart finally burst. Grabbing the lapels of his coat tight, she pulled him down and pressed her lips to his. Before he could react, someone walking behind him whistled. She let go in embarrassment and buried her face against his chest.

A laugh so full of joy bubbled up from him, and his arms wrapped around her. "Ah, Emma, you never fail to surprise me," he chuckled with tenderness woven through his voice. "You make me bold, sweet lady." He gave a mischevious smile and grabbed her hand, spinning her in a circle beneath the crystal chandeliers in the massive lobby.

The crowd was beginning to thin out, with only a few minutes left before the show, but the couple dozen people who were present looked at them. She tensed. Jason would be so embarrassed. He didn't deserve to be stared at like this. When her eyes landed on him as he spun her into his arms, she smiled to see him lighting up like a firefly with only eyes for her. And then, he swept her heart away.

He held her tight and led her in an energetic waltz through the lobby, spinning and spinning until she couldn't stop laughing. So much joy shined through his eye, and his laughter joined hers to ring through the cathedral ceiling room and down the many halls. Without breaking stride when they reached the stairs, he let go of her but kept a grip on her hand, his smile growing. They ran up the stairs, neither of them ready to stop flying through the clouds together. Something had gotten into him. He danced her down the hall past the curtains of private box seats, her laughter making people scowl as they danced past.

He finally stopped, both of their chests heaving. "What's gotten into you?" she smiled up at him.

"You." He gazed at her and leaned down to brush his lips over hers. The tips of his fingers stroked the line of her jaw like the featherlight touch of a paintbrush. It was romance and love with tenderness and promise. Her knees weakened, and she had to wrap her fingers around his forearm to keep from melting to the floor. His beautiful blue eye dove into her. "You're trembling." His husky voice drew desire.

"Yeah," she whispered, utterly breathless and not wanting to resist him.

"Perhaps your heart isn't beating fast enough," he said in a low voice, his eye never leaving hers. He brought her wrist up and slowly slid back her coat sleeve. His lips pressed to the underside where her pulse raced. His hot mouth burned and suckled her skin, his gaze never breaking with hers.

She shuddered, the sexual tension making her ache.

He must have seen it in her eye, because he pulled her through the velvet red curtain into their box. The lights were off and her eyes didn't adjust immediately beyond seeing his silhouette. He pressed her up against a wall, his fingers brushing at her neck but not stroking. They moved down. He was unbuttoning her coat. The cool air of the theatre caressed over the low neckline. Then his warm hand slid inside to rest over her heart, and his mouth crushed down on hers, his tongue diving inside.

A gasp puffed into his mouth, and she pressed against him. He'd never touched so much of her bare skin before or so close to her breast. Oh god, she needed him to take her. She tugged his hand down to where her breast stood erect against the thin layer of dress and fine undergarments. He felt it because he deepened the kiss and his fingertips rolled the round pebble, making her whimper with desire. Then he broke the kiss and both of his hands cupped her breasts and pushed them up enough to threaten to overspill her gown. Her arms wrapped around him.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered and kissed the swells. "Your breasts are so soft but firm enough to satisfy when I squeeze." He squeezed to prove his point, sending delicious shivers up her spine.

She didn't comment.

"You don't agree." His hot, wet tongue grazed over the top of one breast.

"They're too small to satisfy," she whispered, but her head fell back when he licked the cleavage he'd created.

"Your ex is a moron," he growled and continued his exploration.

Her eyes shot open. How had he known Gaston had said that?

"I'm courting you, and I say they satisfy me well." He pressed his hips against her, his arousal very apparent. Then he pulled back and took her hand.

Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness. She gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. A large bouquet of probably three dozen red roses sat on one of the two red cushioned, gold carved seats. Never had any more perfect roses in semibloom existed. "Jason, they're gorgeous!" She stepped past him, inhaling the beautiful fragance in the air she'd been too distracted to notice. Fingering the velvety petals, she leaned down for a moment to breathe in the aroma.

A smile touched his lips, and he lifted the flowers to set them on the floor beside her seat. "I'm glad to you like them." Then he brushed a kiss over her lips and helped her sit.

The grandeur of the architecture and glitter of the people was almost overwhelming. She couldn't figure out what to take in first, from the gold artwork of the cathedral ceiling to the ornate architecture of the balconies and soft chatter of hundreds of people. The glitter of diamonds dripping from women danced in the light coming from the closed-curtain stage. These were the elite of the wealthy in town...a few well-known rich people in town caught her eye. And it all suddenly lost some of its wonder. These were the people who focused on material happiness and did their 'good deeds' by throwing money at the poor rather than rolling up their sleeves and doing something about it when they had more power than anyone.

Jason handed her a pamphlet from his seat beside her. "There are English translation summaries in here. I think you'll enjoy this storyline, sweetheart."

An usher slipped through their curtain. Jason stood. "Excuse me for a moment." They slipped out to the hall. Even though they spoke in hushed voices, she heard bits of the conversation.

"Not a word to anyone where this came from, understood? Here is an extra fifty for you for your silence," Jason said.

"Yes, sir. Thank you."

"Give it directly to the donation booth. If they ask, tell them a messenger delivered it."

"Yes, sir."

Jason stepped back in and sat down with a brief smile at her and then looked over his pamphlet.

"Is everything alright?"

"Yes," he replied with a nod. "Are you thirsty or anything?"

"No, thank you. Have you been here before?" He seemed at ease in this environment. Far more at ease than a man nervous of the public should be. The tension in her bones ate her alive. Even though he'd grown up in poverty, maybe he thrived in this lifestyle. Sometimes it seemed to suit him, but other times it didn't quite fit his personality.

"A few," he shrugged. His eye narrowed in on the older woman walking across the stage.

"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming tonight. It is my pleasure to say that half of the proceeds for tonight's opera go to the local children's cancer foundation." The woman sounded ready to burst with happiness.

She looked from the woman to Jason. He seemed tense.

"Your generosity has led to ten thousand dollars being raised for the foundation."

Everyone clapped. Please. These people could throw ten thousand out the window and not know it was missing. The little children who suffered so much needed more than that pittance for the foundation to help them. Jason, curiously enough, sat as still as stone. Her eyes narrowed on him.

"It gives me extreme pleasure to add that we received an anonymous donation of a generous one hundred thousand dollars!" The woman sounded ready to burst. A murmur of surprise swept through the crowd.

Her eyes widened.

"Would our generous sponsor please stand?" the woman asked. Everyone turned around in their seats.

Jason's eye closed briefly, almost as if he hadn't anticipated this request. He looked like he stopped breathing, but he regained his composure and glanced around too. His eye met hers for an instant. She caught the slight moment of panic in his eye-she wasn't supposed to have figured it out.

It all made sense. The comment that she would rather have money anonymously donated to a charity, attending a fundraiser opera...Her blood boiled. If he wanted to impress her with throwing money around again, he'd sorely misjudged. He wasn't any better than the rest of them. She shot up and stormed out.

"Emma!" His footsteps hurried after her.

She kept marching down the hall because if she turned around, she'd spit nails at him.

He caught her elbow and pulled her into a side storage hall for privacy.

"Don't," she hissed, keeping her voice down, and yanked her arm away. "I thought you got it this afternoon, but you were just placating me. You throw money around expecting me to fall at your feet or be dazzled by it."

"Now hold on," he said calmly. "I was going to arrange this beforehand so there'd be no way for you to know, but I didn't have a way to call the foundation or here without my phone number showing up on caller ID. You weren't supposed to know."

"That's bullshit."

He blinked. Then his brow furrowed, and his eye glittered with anger. "What's bullshit is you getting so angry how much is spent on your birthday." He pointed at toward the opera. "That was a donation and had nothing to do with trying or not trying to impress you."

"You're not any different than them!" she barked and flung out her arm. "They throw money at people rather than try to actually help them!"

"Emma, not all people with money are bad! Yes, there are those in there who wouldn't lift a finger to help besides fill out a check-"

"And you didn't do anything better than them! You just gave more to appease your conscience! I don't want a life like this where any whim can be bought. I don't know if I even really want that car! There is such a thing as too much luxury, and you of all people should know that!"

His jaw clenched. "Don't you lecture me when you won't even look at your own books, Accountant."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"Nothing." He walked down the hall a bit and came back, as if needing to work off steam. "Goddammit, Emma, I am _not_ him," he snapped. "This is what it's all about, isn't it?"

Her eyes held his in furious silence.

Leaning his hands on the wall on each side of her shoulders, he growled, "I've had money like this for less than ten years, and I don't know what the hell to do with it. I know what it's like to go hungry and for a child to worry if anyone will be there to tuck you in at night."

The red haze of anger faded a bit.

His eye searched hers, firm but calming down. "I know a bit what it's like for those cancer kids to be stuck in a hospital day after day fighting your own body to survive. To be scared of what pain is next every time you see a doctor or nurse come in the room. I gave that money because I've seen children fear my face. Money is the best I can give that foundation."

The anger extinguished and in its place came grief for his suffering. But also relief that money had not blinded him to the plight of others. The opera singing rang faintly down the hall.

"I was so messed up and then so busy with the SEALS and med school that I didn't date until after college. My fiance was my first experience with a relationship, and she came from money. She enjoyed receiving materials, and I enjoyed her pleasure. I don't know how to court you how you want to be courted." The grief in his eye cut.

"Twenty dollars," she said softly and looked into his eye. "Tell me what you would do for my birthday with twenty dollars."

He released a deep breath and searched her eyes, as if concentrating. "I'd pile blankets and pillows on the floor in the sitting room at home and make a giant bed. Then I'd make popcorn and pop on a movie. I'd get some beer-"

"Beer?" she smiled. "You seem too refined for beer."

With a shake of his head, he said, "I've never been able to choke down Scotch or any of those snobby drinks. What I wouldn't give for a beer," he sighed. "I'd jam a napkin in my mouth just to be able to drink out of a cold beer bottle again." His eye closed briefly in pleasure. "After that, we'd makeout like there's no tomorrow and talk in the dark until the sun came up. That is the kind of 'no money' date I know how to do."

And it absolutey melted her heart. "That's the kind of date that I want. An opera or something nice is fun on occasion, but I don't want it every time."

His lips pressed together.

"I know, it's my birthday," she said with red cheeks.

"Do you want to go home?"

She shook her head. "I'm sorry."

"Me too."

"What are you sorry for?" She gave a soft smile.

He shrugged. "I obviously hurt your feelings." The tips of his fingers skimmed along her low neckline, and his eye followed for a moment before lifting to hold her eyes. "I don't want to hurt you, Emma."

The heat in his eye her made her toes curl. But he held back. "Why do you always stop kissing me and use the excuse you don't want to get me pregnant? I'll respect if you want to wait for marriage."

He heaved a sigh that seemed to come from his soul, and he glanced down for a moment. "I was a teenage pregnancy." He looked at her, and her brow furrowed in surprise. "My mother got pregnant at nineteen and my father tried to do right by her. They married, but their parents didn't want anything to do with it. I never knew my grandparents or any relatives. My parents obviously didn't go to college and drowned in debt. My father never said a harsh word to my mother or I, he simply started drinking when I was born and remained in a stupor the next twelve years. We knew he resented us but felt too guilty to leave." He searched her eyes. "I told myself I'd never compromise a woman like that." He cupped her cheek. "If something ever did happen, you would have the choice of marrying me or taking money and having your freedom. I'd want you and the baby to be happy, whatever that road is."

"Jason," she whispered and held his hand on her cheek. "How could you ever doubt that you'd be a wonderful father and husband? Your face doesn't matter to me, and it wouldn't to a baby."

He gave a tight smile, obviously not entirely believing her. But in time he would. If she kept chipping away at his chains, they would break in time.

"I want to wait for marriage too, for what it's worth, anyways."

A glint of anger flashed through his eyes. "He took what wasn't his, Emma. You're still a virgin because you haven't given yourself to anyone."

Tears blurred her vision a bit, and she smiled softly. "I've been scared you would see it differently."

His brown wrinkled with sadness. "Never," he whispered and then kissed her so perfectly she almost stomped a foot when he pulled away. "Come, love. We'll miss the opera," he smiled.

She searched his face. He was so honorable and good and loving. She couldn't hold back another moment. "Damn the opera." She wrapped a hand behind his neck and pulled him down for a kiss, pressing herself against him. "Be rough with me. Touch me through my clothes."

He pulled his head back to look at her. "Be rough? But won't you-"

She shook her head. "You don't frighten me." He hesitated. Her hand slid down to stroke his thigh. His eye darkened with desire. "Conquer me," she whispered. Then the back of her hand brushed over his arousal. Oh god, she needed to release this sexual tension as much as him.

In an instant, the noble knight disappeared and in his place stood a man whose sexual desire clamored to be released. Here stood a powerful, slightly dangerous man. She gave him a coy smile.

He shoved her up against the wall behind a cabinet, blocking them from view. His mouth crushed hers in a hungry kiss, and his hands pinned hers over her head. He trapped her wrists in one hand. She squirmed, anxiously awaiting him to capture her breast and work his magic. But his hand shoved between her thighs through her skirt, making her cry out into his mouth in pleasure. Desire rushed down to where he rubbed, his fingers dancing and tantalizing her most intimate folds while the heel of his hand rubbed her sensitive nub.

She gasped and couldn't help but rock her hips. His mouth trailed down to kiss her throat and the swells of her breasts. It was too much pleasure, and he was shooting her to the stars. Her body tensed. "Oh god, Jason," she gasped, hardly able to breathe fast enough.

"Let me see how I please you. Don't be embarrassed," he whispered against her throat. He needed to know he could bring pleasure to a woman, despite his face. Her embarrassment faded when she sensed him stop kissing and watch her. She would let him see what he could do to her body. Her hands tugged against his restraint, as her body started to coil. Her thighs clenched against his hand, and he rocked her slightly faster until she lifted onto her toes. She bit her lip to keep from crying out. Oh god, the pleasure. It was too intense. A contraction deep in her belly, and then a wave of heat washed over her. Her mouth fell open in a silent gasp, and she arched, flying through the clouds.

He pressed his body against her, and continued stroking between her thighs. "Emma, Emma," he murmured. "Show me once more how much you want my sex."

Whether it was his tender words or his touch, he suspended her pleasure and then her breasts tightened and she bucked hard. His mouth captured her cry as she exploded into thousands of pieces in his arms. Her body trembled so hard as she came back down, and she panted impossibly fast. He released her hands and wrapped his arms around her to keep her upright. She clutched his arms in a weak grip to keep from sinking to the floor.

"Oh my. I didn't expect a reaction like that," he smiled tenderly and bent his head a bit to hold her eyes. "Do you feel alright?"

She nodded, still panting too hard to speak. Sweet heaven, she hadn't known pleasure like that existed.

"Perhaps I should carry you back." he looked a tad worried that she still trembled.

"You can't...from surgery," she panted.

"Then we'll sit until you feel stronger." He sat on the floor and tugged her hand. She practically collapsed in his lap. "Was it at least enjoyable?"

She gave a breathless laugh and rested her head on his shoulder.

"Thank you, Emma," he whispered against her hair. "I think you were a little embarrassed, but you let me watch the pleasure I brought you. It helps me not be so afraid of being intimate to know you feel desire."

"That therapist was wrong." She rubbed his arm around her. "Your scars don't affect how I feel about you."

He kissed her hair. "Thank you, sweetheart." He glanced at his watch. "Emma, there's a part of the opera I want you to see. I don't mean to cut our conversation short. I have a reason for this, I promise." He helped her to her feet and looked at her to see if she felt better. She nodded and they hurried back to their seats.

Curiosity had made her want to attend the opera, just for the experience. She hadn't expected to be swept away by the love story. Jason had been right-she couldn't understand a word, but the emotions in the singing and the acting needed no words. Jason handed her a handkerchief when she silently cried as the hero had to leave for battle. The love the hero and heroine had for each other broke her heart when he sailed away at intermission.

"I promise you'll like the second half more." He brushed away her tears.

She sniffled. "I guess Trudy knew what she was doing when she put waterproof makeup on me."

He smiled. "You looked beautiful even when you were battered from the car accident. I don't think it's possible for you to not be beautiful."

She flushed and looked at him from beneath her lashes. "All the same, I'm going to slip to the ladies room."

"I'll take you."

She touched up her makeup finally, the line for the restroom long. The five-minute lights flashing warning came on. She hurried back out to the lobby and looked around. Jason stepped out from the shadows near the staircase. He seemed a bit nervous. "Is everything alright?" He nodded. Perhaps he was nervous being around people.

When they were seated, he turned in his seat and took her hands. He felt a bit clammy. "Emma, I care for you a great deal. I know it must've been hard saying you loved me but not have the words reciprocated right away. It means a lot that you gave me space and didn't just throw in the towel."

Her heat beat fast. He was leading up to the words. Her hands tightened in his, not wanting him to be nervous.

"I know I said I wanted to tell you more about my face. You heard the worst about it at your parents, and you still found pleasure in my touch tonight." His eye searched hers. "Emma, I l-"

Her phone rang in her clutch. She tried to ignore it, but he glanced down at her purse on the floor. She groaned inwardly when he handed it to her.

She frowned. "It's Mom's cell." Her mom wouldn't be out this late. "Hi, Mom."

She was sobbing.

"Mom, what's wrong?" She glanced at Jason.

His eye narrowed in concern, and he stood and held out his hand, leading her into the hall where she could hear better.

"Mom? I can't understand you." She held a hand over her other ear to hear when the opera singing resumed.

"Dad had a stroke," her mom sobbed.

"What do you mean Dad had a stroke?" Her eyes flew to Jason. He ducked inside for their coats.

"Emma, he's unconscious," she sobbed. "His heart keeps stopping. They said he'll go before morning. You need to come."

Her hands shook. "What hospital?"

Jason came out with their coats and her purse when she hung up. "He's dying and won't make it to morning," she whispered, too shocked to comprehend everything.

He grabbed her hand and ran down the long hall. He pulled out his phone and spoke quickly and distinctly. "Stevens, fire up the chopper. Emma's dad is dying. Get clearance from the hospital to see if we can land. If not, get us as close as you can. Where's the closest location you can pick us up?...OK." He pocketed his phone. She grabbed up her skirts, and he guided her down the stairs in her heels. He threw her coat around her shoulders as they ran outside. Then his hand, strong and warm against her shakey cold one, slipped into hers as they tore down the sidewalk. He led the way through the street and down the block to the building with the helipad. Holding the door for her, he tugged her through and ran to the elevator. He hit the button and looked at the meter. "Shit, it's stopping at all seven floors. Emma, we gotta take the stairs. It'll take too long."

He looked around and then pulled her along. He pushed on the stairwell door and cursed.

"Is it locked?" Her voice shook. Her phone rang.

"Emma, he going. You gotta come," her mom wept.

"I'm coming, Mama." There was noise in the background and her mom hung up. Tears pooled in her eyes. They were taking too long. "Jason," she whimpered and started crying as it all settled in.

He let go of her hand and backed up a couple steps. Then he slammed his shoulder into the door, breaking the doorjam. The door bashed against the wall. He grabbed her hand and pulled her up the steps. Up and up, her feet racing to keep up with him. Her shoe slipped, and she nearly fell. His hand tightened and he kept her from going down. "Come on, Emma," he said calmly and met her eyes. He helped pull her along when her thighs burned and she panted by the time they reached the seventh floor. Then he leaned into the door of the roof. Dropping her hand, it took all his strength to push open the door against the wind of the chopper. He grabbed her hand and ran across the helipad and opened the chopper door.

He helped her inside and climbed in himself before shutting the door, signaling for Stevens to go. He buckled her and then himself. Putting on a headset, his mouth moved as he said something to Stevens. His hand slipped into hers in her lap. She stared out the window, too numb to think.

The chopper landed on the hospital roof minutes later, and he unbuckled her and him. Jumping out, he turned and lifted her out. She ran, letting him lead her across the pad and down a hall to a nurses's desk simply because she couldn't put together a coherent thought. Jason pulled off her coat and wiped a hand over her brow. His fingers were damp. She must be sweating.

His voice sounded distant as he asked for her dad's room number. She turned around in a circle. The halls bustled with people. She heard everything at once and yet nothing.

Jason's gentle hand caught her arm and turned her around. "This way." He grabbed her hand and rushed down another hall. He stopped suddenly, his shoes sliding. He caught her plowing into him. "Right here." He pointed down a short hall.

Dozens of people filled the ER, but he didn't hesitate and picked their way through to the desk. He asked for her dad's room. "No, he's dying. This is his daughter, and she needs to get to him," he begged when the receptionist said to take a seat.

A nurse stepped over. "Emma? They're expecting you." Then she looked at Jason. "I'm sorry, only immediate family. He only has minutes left. Come. He's down the hall to the left," the nurse told her.

She looked around, her hands shaking. Everyone in the waiting room began to stare at him, but his eyes remained on her. Fear began to swallow her heart, bit by bit. It was too soon. Dad was too young. There was too much left to say. He was supposed to walk her down the aisle and hold her babies as he became a grandpa. He was supposed to be there to give marriage and parenting advice. He was supposed to laugh as her children made her hair turn gray as she had his. Her heart pounded. Tears slipped down her face.

He gave her a strong hug. "Go," Jason said softly, calm and strong amid the world crashing all around. He let go and stroked her cheek. "I'll be right here."

With one last look at him for strength, she lifted her skirts and ran through the doors that separated her from the safety of Jason's arms and led to a nightmare. She outdistanced the nurse running to lead the way. Everything moved in slow motion. Her skirts fluttered, catching on medical carts and passing patient beds, but she barely heard the material rip. The voices of doctors and nurses talking about patients rang loud in her ears. Wheels of patient beds being pushed down the hall screeched until she heard each rotation. Her cool locks bounced on her shoulders with each step. Memories of Dad carrying her when she fell off her bike and scraped her knee. Standing on Dad's feet at the second grade father-daughter dance. Dad staying up with her until midnight to study for the geometry test, and laughing when the problems suddenly made sense to her. Dad up to his elbows in grease teaching her about cars and smiling so big when she wrestled a belt on the engine by herself and it worked. Dad coming into her room in the middle of the night to hold her when she woke up screaming from a nightmare about Gaston.

She darted around a nurse and ran into a medical cart but didn't stop. The end of the hall. Her heart pounded faster. She turned left and ran, her curls finally slipping from the barrette to bounce down on her back and fall apart like her heart. The rose fell from her hair, abandoned on the floor. Mom stood at the far end of the hall crying into a tissue outside a room. Her heart stilled, and she plowed through a group of people. No. She hadn't said she loved him. She had to tell him what a good dad he'd been. All the things she didn't say...

The world slowed, and she fought to run faster, the air burning her lungs. She cut between some doctors talking and bumped into a patient bed, but her eyes never left her mom. Doctors rushed into the room behind Mom. She reached the room, but someone grabbed her arm to stop her. Mom tried to pull her back and said something. She couldn't hear what Mom and the nurse said, and she twisted in Mom's arms to get to Dad. Two doctors came out looking so solemn and shook their heads. They said something, but she broke free and ran into the room.

Her heart thundered faster, piercing with each beat. Dad laid in bed, pale and still. She froze, suddenly scared. He needed to get up and wrap his arms around her, promising in his gentle voice that it was just a nightmare. She slowly walked over, tears cursing down. She slowly sat on the edge of the bed. "Daddy?" she whispered. He didn't move. She slowly sank down over his silent chest and wept.


	29. Chapter 29

The cell rang. Again. It was Jason. Again. She tossed the phone aside on the counter at her mom's house and resumed scrambling eggs. Brushing loose strands of hair out of her face from her messy ponytail, she pushed up her pajama sleeves. She cut up some ham and mixed it into the skillet. Eating a couple spoonfuls herself, she dumped the rest on a plate for her mom. Her stomach growled, but food didn't appeal still after three days.

Her cell chirped a voicemail. The fourth one he'd left since her birthday. No, the day her dad had died. She no longer had a birthday. There was nothing to celebrate that day anymore. The cell chirped a text alert. Anger bubbled up. SHe needed to smash something. Hate clouded her vision. If she hadn't wanted a date with Jason, she would have stayed with her parents. Maybe he wouldn't have died if she'd been there to help her mom with him while waiting for the ambulance. She would've been there to say goodbye. If Jason has been there still too, he might have been able to save him. She snatched up the cell, seriously contemplating throwing it out the window.

She hadn't had the strength to go back out and see him at the hospital, to have to say her dad was gone. So a nurse had sent him home for her. She hadn't listened to any of his messages because hearing his voice would make her cry. Throwing the phone across the room, it bounced against the wall and slid across the floor to land at her feet. The text message had opened. She bent down and slowly picked it up.

_This isn't good for you and your mom to be alone. Let me come out or see if one or your relatives can. Your grandmother said your mom is still in bed. You don't need to do this alone, sweetheart. I'm coming if I don't hear from you by tonight still. J_

She didn't want him. The pain could remain buried if he stayed away. It was time to stop putting off the inevitable.

_Don't. Mom needs me here. I'm resigning and moving back home. I'll explain my notes to my replacement once you find one. Goodbye, Dr. Port. _

Her finger hovered over Send. It was a barb, but it hopefully would push him away hard enough he wouldn't come back. Her lip quivered. Her mom's physician wanted to admit her mom to a psychiatric hospital for severe depression. She couldn't go back to Colorado. She had to stay here. This was her life now. The life insurance had been due the day of her dad's death, and her mom said he'd been about to pay bills online when the stroke had occurred. Some kind of loophole existed that let the insurance company not pay out. All her mom had was her dad's last paycheck and the house. They'd cashed all the stocks plus her own paychecks from Jason to pay for the funeral. She survived the pain by looking for jobs and had a night waitressing gig lined up at a diner. Her mom didn't know. If she slipped bills out of her mom's mail and paid them, maybe her mom wouldn't know. Her mom hadn't worked in years due to frequent, debilitating migraines. But her dad's paycheck had always gotten them by.

The house phone rang. Her blood pressure shot through the roof as she looked at caller ID and snatched the phone. "What about that wasn't clear?" she snapped at Jason.

"Shoving me away won't make anything better," he said calmly. It sounded like he was in the car.

Her face crumpled hearing him so gentle and calm. "I've got enough to deal with without a relationship too." Her voice quivered.

"I'm not calling as a boyfriend but as a friend, Emma. This is too much for you to handle on your own."

"Did it occur to you that I don't want to talk to you?" God, that sounded cold even to her own ears.

He was silent for a moment. "I know you're angry I didn't get you there even two minutes sooner. I know you need to be angry at someone because what happened is too painful to absorb yet," he said softly. "You don't have to talk to me. I can just be there and help with your mom or run errands or whatever you need."

Or hold her. Biting her lip, she took a deep breath. "What's the point? We both knew we weren't going anywhere. It was a fling. I have to move on with my life now." The tears rolled down her face, but she had to do this. She couldn't make her mom move out to Colorado and leave her home, and she couldn't make Jason come to the city with all the people.

"Don't," he whispered. "Don't say things out of anger that you can't take back. I can't walk away, Emma. And I don't think you honestly want me to."

She sank to the floor and bent her knees up. And then she sobbed. He wasn't supposed to see through it. He wasn't supposed to be kind and understanding. As long as he was around, she couldn't shut down her heart because he'd fight for her. She hung up the phone. Then she picked up the line, the dial tone ringing in her ear. "I need you here. I'm so scared. I can't do this. I'm so lost, Jason." The dial tone was the only answer.

The doorbell rang minutes later. She didn't move from where she still sat on the floor, clutching the phone as her only link to Jason. The doorbell rang again. A dog barked. Her head whipped up. That bark. It couldn't be. She pushed herself up and took a step, her heart beating faster. No, it wouldn't be. The disappointment would be crushing. If that was Prince, it meant Jason was with him. Neither one of them could have gotten here that fast when Jason said he would've come tonight. The dog barked twice, sounding anxious.

She ran into the livingroom and looked out the window to see Prince on the front step. An unfamiliar car was parked in the driveway. Whipping open the door, she stared in disbelief. Jason stood there, like a beacon amid the waves crashing in the storm. Prince ran in circles around her, barking happily. She held Jason's eye. With the next beat of her heart, she flung herself in his arms and wept.

His strong arms wrapped around her. "It's going to be alright," he whispered against her hair. He didn't let go.

* * *

Jason quietly took over finishing making breakfast even though it was eleven o'clock in the morning and listened to her unload everything off her chest.

He set a plate of eggs in front of her. "Eat. You look like you're getting ill." His hand felt her brow for a moment. Then he set down the plate for her mom and sat in a chair. "Emma? May I ask your mother if I may give her some money? Even as a loan if she's uncomfortable just taking it." He held up a hand. "It's not charity. It's helping family." Compassion filled his eye. "I don't like the idea of you waitressing at night. If something happened to you, your mother would never forgive herself. Don't make her suffer because of pride. Or make me suffer either," he added quietly. His hand rested over hers on the table. "If you want to quit your accounting job, you can. The money for your mother would come without any strings. Even if you decide you don't want to date me. Let me take the eggs to your mother and see if I can get her to talk." She slowly nodded. Then he kissed the top of her head and walked down the hall.

Prince sat beside her, waiting for his share of eggs. She picked at the food but took a few bites to appease Jason. A little of the weight of the world lifted from her shoulders having someone else to help handle the burdens. His voice traveled down the hall when he knocked on the bedroom door even though it was open.

"Mrs. Hoplin? It's Jason. May I come in?"

"Jason? Oh, I'm sorry. I must've fallen asleep. I didn't know you were coming." Her mom sounded more tired each day even though she slept all the time.

"My apologies for waking you. I took the liberty of showing up. Emma and I made you breakfast. May I speak with you for a moment?"

Sheets rustled.

"Thank you. Mrs. Hoplin, Emma is very worried about you and expressed her concerns about what the physician said. No, don't be embarrassed," he said with so much compassion. "I disagree with the physician. I don't know what it's like to lose a spouse, but I've lost both parents and had some depression after my accident. I want to help, whatever way you and Emma need. Tell me what would help."

Her mom sniffled. "I think Emma feels responsible for me. She's young and shouldn't be tied down trying to support me or move in with me."

"She mentioned what the insurance company did. If I may, I'd like to give you some money until we figure out what to do."

"Oh no-"

"Ms. Hoplin, I'm crazy about your daughter. Her family is mine. I wouldn't do any less if I had any family. You can figure out finances down the road, if you prefer it to be a loan. You and Emma shouldn't have to worry about money right now." Her mom must've nodded. "I have to ask...do you want to remain in this house? Some people don't want to part with the memories, and others find them too painful to stay."

"I want to stay, but I can't stand this place right now. I keep seeing him when I turn around." She started crying again.

Her eyes teared. Jason had gotten her mom to open up more in three minutes than she'd been able to get in three days. She walked into the room to see Jason sitting on the edge of the bed holding her mom as she sobbed. His eye met hers, so full of grief for them.

Her face crumpled, but she didn't even know for sure why. Jason held out an arm for her. Her mom looked up and held out her other arm too. She crawled across the bed. They held her, with her and her mom crying and Jason swallowing hard. They'd get through this. They could do this as a family.


	30. Chapter 30

She couldn't make it through the funeral. Jason had left last night to arrange all the paperwork for transferring funds to her mother as fast as possible. He'd given them five hundred in cash to pay immediate bills and get food until either his money or her dad's last paycheck arrived. She didn't expect him to miss more business meetings with his patent coming up or to show up for a very public event by attending the funeral. The wake last night had been so impossibly packed with extended family, friends, and dozens of her dad's coworkers over the years.

Her mom had sobbed through most of the wake, and the aunts were comforting her now in the vestibule of the church before Mass started. Her mom needed to get this over with. She wandered outside, unable to stand all the tears. Sitting on the step overlooking a forest preserve, she closed her eyes and felt the cold January wind caress her skin. "I miss you, Daddy," she whispered, tears sliding down her cheeks. She couldn't forget how he looked in the casket. So still and pale. He should have been laughing and chatting about anything and everything.

Nana came outside and stepped down with her cane.

She brushed her eyes. "Nana, you shouldn't be out here in the cold."

"Neither should you. I can't take everyone crying." She worked her old bones down on the step and rested her gnarled old hands on the top of the cane. Her eyes, milky with cateracts, stared out over the blanket of snow covering the trees. "I shouldn't outlive my son."

She rested a hand over Nana's.

"But he wouldn't want us to be sad like this. You picked out beautiful flowers. All colorful spring ones like he would've wanted."

Her lip quivered.

"Where is this beau of yours? I called the house on your birthday, but your father said I missed you. He said you have quite a wonderful man who is so crazy about you. This young man told your father that he loves you."

Her head whipped to Nana. "He what?"

Nana smiled, her leathery face looking happy for a moment. "Your father said he'd never seen you so happy. He said he heard wedding bells in the distance."

Looking away, she remained silent. Jason might rather run than get married and risk his wife seeing his face.

"I want to be a great-nana before I go. And I'll spit in the Devil's eye if he thinks he's taking me any sooner."

"You have three great-grandchildren."

"But I want them from you." Her eyes studied the woods. "Out of all the grandchildren, you are the one with the largest heart. With everything you've endured, you've become the strongest. You deserve happiness. Now, you're cousin Bill could use a good beating," she said, referring to the lawyer who thought he was God's gift to man.

She sorted, trying not to smile. "Nana, you shouldn't say such things."

"You see? He used to pull your hair and steal your share of my cookies for you grandkids, but you defend him. Where is this man who is amazing enough to have stolen your heart?"

She flushed. "He's working on some things to help Mom. I didn't tell him about the funeral today."

"Lover's spat?"

"Nana!"

She shrugged. "I was young once."

"He was in a fire and his face got burned quite bad. He prefers to not be in public, Nana."

"A good man would not let that hold him back when you need him here. Or are you afraid he is that man and would show up? That's why you didn't tell him?" Her old eyes suddenly seemed so clear.

She looked down at her lap with a heavy heart. "I won't let him make himself a spectacle. I can see him tonight." But what she wouldn't give to have him here for support.

"You always were too stubborn for your own good," Nana sighed. "Come. It's time to go in."

She helped Nana inside but then hung back.

Her mom walked over, her eyes red. "Baby, where were you? Come, we're supposed to walk with the ca, casket." She burst into tears again.

"Mom? Do you want to walk with Aunt Tammie?" She sniffled. She couldn't walk with her and not break down sobbing herself.

"But you'll be alone-"

"I can't, Mommy," she whimpered. "I'm sorry."

Her mom hugged her tight. "Do what you need, baby." She kissed her brow.

The procession started. Her mom and Nana and aunts and uncles walked with the casket. Then her cousins followed with their families. Being alone at the end would be easier.

The church was nearly full. She stepped in, suddenly so isolated and scared. Her mom was too far ahead, and the aisle wasn't wide enough to slip past everyone to catch up. The procession was so long that her mom already started taking a seat in the front pew. The grief swelled up, and she couldn't see through the tears. Her knees weakened and her heart pounded. It hurt to breathe. She couldn't do this. She couldn't endure this kind of pain.

The procession continued, leaving her behind at the back of the church. She stood frozen. The churning of her stomach made her breathe deeply. Her hands shook and silent tears streamed down her cheeks. Movement out of the corner of her eye made her turn her head. Jason walked down the pew toward her. A sob ripped out of her throat. He'd come. Somehow he'd found out about the funeral and come.

Slipping her arm through his, he started leading her down the aisle. "You can do this," he said quietly, his gaze lending strength. He handed her a handkerchief.

She clung to him and dabbed at her eyes as they started down the aisle. They were so far behind that all eyes turned to them. Everyone stared at him, and some people whispered. But Jason stood tall and calm, his steps sure as they walked down the center aisle.

"You weren't supposed to come," she sniffled.

His head turned to look down at her with love. "I told you that you're not alone, sweetheart." He led her to the front pew to sit beside her mother. When she sat but didn't let go of him, he sat on her other side.

Her mom gave him a watery smile and then wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Jason held her hand in her lap.

They made it through the funeral. Her head pounded from crying so much. Everyone started funneling into the large room in back of the vestibule for lunch. She and Jason sat in the back pew of the empty church, with his arm stretched out behind her and around her shoulders. She rested her head on his shoulder with her eyes closed, simply absorbing his strength.

"Thank you for coming."

He frowned. "Am I going somewhere now?"

She looked at him. "There will be questions if you come to lunch. Questions and gossip and..." A wary sigh escaped her.

He was silent. "I'll be wherever you want me, Emma. If you want me there, I'll be there."

Shaking her head, she stood. "You've already endured stares."

He caught her hand and looked up at her. "I'm used to the stares, but I know you're not. The questions and gossip are already there, whether I show up at lunch or not." He stood and cupped her face in his hands.

Her eyes drifted shut. His touch felt so good and calming after the exhaustion and stress of the last few days.

All the walls were stripped from his eye, completely vulnerable and honest. The beauty of it stole her breath away. "I endure lies and forced pleasantries from everyone, Emma. I count on you to be honest with me. I think you want me there, but I'm not sure if you're scared of the questions or if I shame you."

Her brow furrowed with a broken heart. "You don't shame me. Why would you think that?"

He shook his head. "I have to guess what the reasons might be if you don't tell me." A wrinkle of concern marred his brow.

"Of course I want you, but I'm scared that some of them might make you ashamed. Some of my cousins aren't kind." Tears shimmered on her lashes. "Today is hard enough without watching you get hurt too."

His eye looked into hers. "Today is about helping you. I have a tougher skin than you think. I don't care what they'll say. If it means anything to you for me to be there, I want to be. I can handle anything that comes at us as long as we support each other."

She wrapped her arms around him. "Why did you take so long to come?"

"I came twenty minutes early but couldn't find you."

"No, why did you wait until the car accident to come?"

He laughed softly and kissed her hair. "I think you more came to me. I didn't think I'd drive you off the edge that soon, though."

For the first time in nearly a week, she laughed. And then melted into tears.

"Sweetheart, it will get better," he promised and pulled her down in his lap to hold her tight.

Once she sufficiently soaked his handkerchief and suit jacket, there were no more tears left for the moment.

He stroked her hair down her back. "You must have a headache by now. I can go see if someone has any pain reliever."

She breathed deep, stress making her stomach churn. His cool hand rested on her brow.

He picked her up and carried her into a single stall bathroom. She didn't even look to see who stared. He eased her onto her feet and she immediately got sick in the sink. He held her hair back and turned on the water to lay a cold rag on the back of her neck as she rinsed her mouth. "Emma, you don't even have food in your stomach." He sounded frustrated. "Your body can't handle this stress when you don't even eat. You look like you're barely sleeping." He mopped her brow, and his temper calmed. "I know it's eating you up that you didn't get to say goodbye." His voice cracked. Her eyes flew to him. "I wish I would've gotten you there sooner." Tears shimmered in his eye. His guilt sliced her soul. "He knew you loved him. How could he not, Emma?"

Tears ran down her face. "I don't blame you. God, Jason, you brought in the helicopter."

"Emma, you are getting so weak. You can't do this to yourself much longer." His tear slipped down. "I can even see through your clothes that you've lost weight in less than a week."

He was scared. She turned away toward the sink and looked down. He didn't understand what it felt like, even though he should have after losing both parents. "I'm fine." Her voice echoed flat against the walls.

"No, you're not. Look at me." With reluctance, she raised her eyes to his in the mirror. He stepped up behind her. "You have dark circles under your eyes that didn't used to be there. Your cheeks are a bit hollow." He traced the line of a cheekbone that stuck out. Then his hands cupped her hips. "I can feel your hip bones where soft curves used to be. You're starving, Emma," he whispered. "It would eat your father alive to see you doing this to yourself. Your mother is either too caught up in grief or afraid to see it, but I do. And I'm not going to let you hurt yourself like this."

Her lip quivered and face crumpled. "My stomach hurts from being hungry. I throw up if I eat more than a tablespoon of food."

"Oh god," he whispered and closed his eye in relief. Then he turned her and hugged her tight. "I thought you were so depressed you were doing this on purpose. We'll start with liquids and shakes, and work up to solids. I wish you would've told me yesterday."

"I was so embarassed," she whispered against his shoulder. "People who lose spouses hold it together better than this."

"Emma, you are you. There is no right or wrong way to handle grief. Please be honest and tell me these things. Hiding things are what break down a relationship. You know that I eat and drink worse than a toddler. I'd think that's humiliation at one of its finest."

She shook her head.

"Why?" His voice was firm.

"Because I want you to trust me. You shouldn't be humiliated to tell me anything."

"That's very sound advice," he said pointedly. She cracked a smile. She'd walked right into that one.

She exited with him and caught her mom's sad smile across the room. Her mom seemed happy that she'd found Jason. Taking a deep breath, she looked up at him. The dear man gave an encouraging smile even though he was the one who walked into the lion's den.

He tugged her over to the food bar and pulled aside a kitchen staff member. "Do you have a blender?"

The young man blinked at Jason's mask and then the request. "Yes."

"Would you be so kind as to blend up some of the fruit with a bit of milk?"

"A shake?"

"Yes." They waited a couple minutes before the man brought it out with a straw. "Thank you so much." Jason handed it to her. "Take it easy, and it will likely sit well. The cold will help with nausea too." He wrapped his arm around her.

She flushed. Of course he'd know exactly how to fix things. "Thank you." She sipped, the cold working wonders on her tense stomach. He looked at her anxiously and smiled when she nodded. Taking his hand, she led him over to Nana, who had just sat down at an empty table with a plate of food.

"Ah, this is your man. Sit, sonny." She patted a seat.

She sat with Jason. "This is...Dad's mom..." her voice trailed away with grief.

He stepped in. "Jason Port, Mrs. Hoplin." He extended a hand, and Nana took it. Instead of shaking it, he gently held it in both of his for a moment. "I'm so sorry for your loss. I only had the pleasure of meeting him once, but he seemed like such a wonderful man."

Nana swallowed hard and nodded. "He spoke very highly of you. I talked to him a couple hours before... He said our Emmie had found a good man to take care of her."

His face reddened a bit, and he slipped a hand into hers with a tender look. "She's an amazing woman."

She flushed.

Nana's face grew stern. "How long have you known her?"

Uh oh. Here came the fire drill.

"A bit over a month, ma'm."

Then came some questions about his profession. "And this fire you were in, did it impede your ability to have children?"

"Nana!"

He remained utterly composed. "Not that I'm aware of."

"Good. I told Emmie I refuse to perish until she makes me a great-Nana. I'm approaching my ninetieth year, sonny. I suggest you wed and fill her belly with babies soon."

"You are eighty, Nana, and you have three great-grandkids, with Jen about to give you another." She pointed across the room at her very pregnant cousin. "And you are not talking about virility with my boyfriend!" She started to stand, utterly mortified.

"Emmie wants five children, sonny. Get busy."

Her mouth fell open, and she pulled Jason to his feet. "It's not five, Nana," she muttered.

Nana shrugged. "It makes a man less panicky to find out it's only half."

Jason burst out laughing. "Good point, madam. I believe Emma wants me to meet more family. I hope to see you soon." Emma started pulling him away.

"I won't kick the bucket until she delivers that baby!" Nana called.

The room fell dead silent and everyone stared at them. All eyes flew to her flat belly. Her mom looked shocked. She flushed ten shades of red.

Jason laughed and said loud enough for the room to hear, "No pressure, Jen." Everyone slowly started talking again. "Okay, the day can't get more awkward than that," he whispered with a twinkle in his eye. "Is the shake holding?"

She shook her head. "It was."

Her mom came over after a few minutes with a tight smile. "Emma, in the bathroom, please."

She bit her lip and looked at Jason. "I think it's going to get a lot more awkward."

In the bathroom, her mom shut the door and locked it. "Are you pregnant?!"

"No! Mom, Nana started grilling Jason and saying she's not going to die until I get married and have a baby. Apparently she has Jason lined up as the sacrifical lamb."

"Are you telling me the truth?"

"Yes! Ask Jason. Ask Nana."

She heaved a sigh. "Alright. I'd better be the first one to know after Jason, though."

"Why is everyone assuming Jason would be the father?" She threw up her hands and walked out.

Jason stood in a circle talking with five of her male cousins. He held a drink in his hand but obviously didn't sip from it. They must have pressed him into accepting something. He smiled when she returned to him, making it impossible to tell the mood of the conversation. "I got you a gingerale."

"Oh. Thank you." She took it and sipped.

"Morning sickness hit my wife hard too," one cousin said in empathy.

She froze.

"It hit Jen hard the first three months. But she probably had less stress not being an unwed woman," Bill said and looked down his nose at her.

How did he make her feel ashamed when she wasn't even pregnant?

Jason shifted beside her. "I don't care for the rumor you're spreading about Emma. Or your tone." Steel undertones carried through his words. The other men looked at Bill and then Jason and stepped back.

"I wouldn't want people to think that's why a woman was with me either. That mask is flattering, by the way." He held up a drink, as if in cheers, and took a cocky swig.

Jason opened his mouth, but she laughed and cut in. "Yeah, I guess that's why you knocked Jen up before your wedding-to keep her from running. It's amazing, just when I think you're growing up, you do something like this and totally redeem yourself!" She thumped Bill's arm, his face blank trying to figure out if she was insulting him. "And just for the record when I do get pregnant, stay back because I get nauseous seeing your face. Wouldn't want puke on your suit."

Jason snorted back a laugh.

Bill sputtered and stormed away. The other men and Jason burst out laughing.

"That was totally awesome, Emma! About time someone busted his balls," one of her cousins said.

"He's such an ass," another one said in disgust.

Jason wrapped his arms around her from behind and whispered in her ear, "Very sexy seeing you stand up for yourself, love. Bravo."

She smiled and relaxed back against his chest.

"So, I hear you guys are pretty serious?" one of the guys asked.

His arms loosened around her to rest his hands on her shoulders, probably for propriety knowing Jason. "I am, as long as she can stand me," he teased, skillfully diverting gossip.

Her favorite cousin came over, who was nearly as tall as Jason. She held out a hand to Jason and batted her blue eyes. "Andy, Emma's cousin. I overheard Bill ranting about Emma ripping him a new one, and I just _had_ to come over and see who has finally made our Emma bold enough to stand up for herself."

Jason shook her hand. "A pleasure. Jason Port. Emma did it all herself." He smiled.

Andy grabbed Emma's arm. "I have to steal her for one minute." Andy pulled her to the side and tossed her own long blonde curls over a shoulder. Andy bent down a bit to her own height, as she was want to do when ready to gossip privately. "Dish. You have to tell me where you got a hunk like that. And what's with the mask? And how serious are you? If you dump him, can I have him?"

She laughed. "He's a cardiologist."

Andy grabbed her arm. "No! Oh my god, can I have him?"

"No," she smiled. It felt good to have some girl talk and get away from the funeral for a bit. "I had that car accident."

"Yeah..." Andy looked like a dog waiting for a bone.

"He found me and pulled me out before the car went over the cliff. I was unconscious for it and woke up at his house during the blizzard."

Her mouth fell open and eyes lit up. "Holy shit. Did he ravish you? I could stand a ravishing by a guy like that."

"Andy! You're married and have two kids!"

She waved a hand. "Yeah, to Mr. Boring Earth Science Professor," she grumbled. "I can fantasize, can't I? So, he ravished you?"

"No! He's such a gentleman. Okay, except for when we made out in the hall at the opera," she flushed.

"Oh my god! You didn't!" She fluttered a hand in her face. "Was it hot? I have to live vicariously through you." She grabbed her arm. "Tell me."

Her face flushed hard. "It was so hot," she whispered with a shy smile.

"I knew it! What's with the mask? Is there some deep tragic story behind it?"

She bit her lip, her smile dying. "He was in a fire."

"Oh god!" She threw her head back. "This keeps getting better!" She started waving her hands. "It's like, terrible and traumatic, but he loves you so much he trusts you to tell you these things. Did he show you?" She grabbed her arm again. "It's like, terribly romantic if he's shown you. Like a true love kind of thing."

She frowned. "Andy, he was burned severely. How is that romantic?"

"Like one of those great love stories. You know, the tragic hero, the strong heroine. Oh my god, you have to call me when he proposes. I want every detail."

She rolled her eyes but couldn't seriously be mad at Andy. "If you say 'oh my god' one more time, I'm going to walk away. And what makes you think he's going to propose? We've only known each other for a month."

Andy used both hands to grab her arm this time. "He is so head over heels for you. Any idiot can see it. Oh my god, can I be a bridesmaid?"

"Bridesmaid?" a deep voice asked.

She turned to see Jason. His hand rested on her lower back as he stepped beside her. "Andy was just talking about something."

Andy was all smiles. "So, Emma says you're a cardiologist." She twirled a lock of hair around her finger.

She inwardly groaned. Andy was never up to any good when she twirled her hair.

"Well, technically not practicing. Designing patents more now."

Andy looked at her with big eyes and mouthed, 'oh my god, he's rich.' Then she beamed a smile at Jason. "You know Emma is a whiz with numbers and is trying to get into medical writing. It's, like, a perfect match for your profession."

"What? Medical writing doesn't have anything to do with patents." Could Andy be any more blatant?

"Well, it does a little," Jason said.

Andy gave her a pointed look. "She, like, graduated in the top ten of her class. Didn't date much, but she's totally wife material."

"Andy!" she gaped.

Jason choked trying to hold back a chuckle.

"What? I'm just saying." Andy held out her hands innocently and looked at her. Then she looked at Jason. "Can I asked how much you can benchpress?"

Jason blinked. "Pardon?" She couldn't have heard Andy right either.

"Benchpress." Andy looked like it was the most normal conversation.

"The last time I did a few months ago it was three hundred, but that was for a SEAL physical. Am I missing something here?"

Andy fanned her face. "Oh my god. You're a SEAL too?"

She buried her face in her hands. Andy was practically drooling.

"I was but obviously not now. I'm more backup now if there's some kind of emergency in the mountains being I can get onsite before anyone else."

She looked at him in surprise.

"Oh my god. Excuse me." Andy held up a finger to Jason and looked at her. "You have to marry him; otherwise, I will divorce my husband." Andy grabbed Jason's hand and shook it in both of hers. "So nice to meet you. Oh, you have big hands." Andy continued shaking it and gave her a pointed look.

She stepped between them, breaking the handshake. "Go, or I will put a restaining order on you." She waved a hand to shoo her away.

When Andy picked her tongue up off the floor and left, Jason turned to her. "Did I miss something?"

"Yeah. You were almost jumped at my dad's funeral." She rubbed her temples. He blinked. "Don't look so shocked. I told you that you're hot."

He shook his head with a smile. "Your family is certainly interesting." Then he looked at her seriously. "Love, let me ask your mother if she has pain reliever in her purse. If she's like mine, she'll have any kind of first aid in there." He helped her sit and then walked over to her mom. He returned a minute later. "Here's acetaminophen." She swallowed the pills, and he stood behind her rubbing her neck.

Andy caught her eye across the room and mouthed, 'oh my god,' and pointed to her own neck. As if she couldn't feel Jason giving her a neck rub.

He chuckled. "Andy is vivacious. I don't think I want to know what kind of trouble you two got into as kids."

"She has a good heart, but her mouth has no filter sometimes." She rubbed her eyes. "I'm so tired," she sighed. The weight of the world felt heavier every few minutes.

"It's almost over, sweetheart." His hands moved down to her shoulders.

Her mom walked over, dabbing at her eyes again. "We're going to the grave." Then she burst into tears.

She was too weary to cry anymore but stood and hugged her mom.

"Do you know what he loved most?" her mom hiccupped. "He said hugging you was like hugging Heaven because of how much joy it gave him."

The aching in her chest started again, making it hurt to take a breath. She broke down in tears.

Jason stood back for a minute, letting them have their moment together. "Alright, I hear him threatening to castrate me if I let you two cry anymore. The thought of him being able to hunt me down at a moment's notice now has me more terrified than ever." His voice held a hint of laughter, and he wrapped his arms around them.

They burst into tearful laughter.

Jason drove her in a rental car in the procession while her mom rode with the aunts. She heaved a sigh of relief and closed her eyes as they started driving. "Fifteen minutes of peace." His hand slipped into hers in her lap and gave a gentle squeeze. Leaning forward, she flipped on the radio, needing escape from everything. Old big band music played. Closing her eyes, she relaxed and held his hand.

"Emma?" Someone shook her shoulder. She blinked and looked around to see they were parked in a graveyard. "Love, you fell asleep." Jason stood in the open passenger doorway and leaned over to unbuckle her.

"Sorry." She rubbed her eyes.

"You're exhausted. It's almost over, sweetheart." He helped her slide out, concern mounting in his eyes.

She remained dry eyed for the burial, even when she had to toss a handful of dirt into the grave with her mom. Then she looked at her mom, who nodded. Taking Jason's hand, she pulled him forward. He searched her eye for a moment, seeming surprised they wanted him to be part of it. Scooping up a handful, he tossed dirt in too.

Jason drove them back home, everyone silent. Everything was numb, as if watching a dream happen from the outside. She stared out at the passing houses, not really seeing them. He pulled into the drive and got out. Then he opened the door for her mom and offered a hand. She opened her door, and he stepped around to help her. When she stood, spots monopolized her vision. Jason said something, but his voice rang tingy and distant. Then everything went black.

"Emma? Emma, wake up." Jason sounded nervous.

Something warm and wet licked her hand.

She blinked to see her mom and Jason leaning over. Looking around, she tried to push herself up. She was laying on the sofa. Prince whined and thumped his tail before licking her hand again.

Jason pressed her shoulders back down. "Your pulse is still weak." He sat back on his heels and looked from her up to her mom. "She's losing weight and not able to eat without throwing up. It's lucky that fainting is the worst thing that's happened." He shook his head. "That's it. You both need a break. You're staying at my place for awhile."

Her mom nodded, looking as worried as Jason.

Relief swept through the depths of her soul. She was going home.


	31. Chapter 31

**Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews for the last few chapters. They were kinda draining to write, so I just posted and didn't put author's notes. I'm hoping we'll hit 100 reviews by the end of this story. :D**

**Oh no! One of the readers pointed out Jason's last name presented as Paxton in the last chapter. Sorry, that was an autocorrect error. Jason's name should always be assumed to be Port.**

* * *

She sat at the desk with papers scattered all around two days later. Numbers were such a relief and served as an escape from the funeral. It was good to be back. Odd how Jason's house felt more like home now than the one she'd grown up in. Probably because she'd been on edge worried he'd have to leave her mom's house at any moment. Tapping her phone, she changed the music before resuming trying to figure out the puzzle of Jason's embezzler.

Trudy came bustling in, her bubbly personality more refreshing than ever. "Pete made some chocolate chip cookies, as fresh as the petunias in the sun."

She frowned. "Trudy, that metaphore doesn't even work in January."

Trudy set down a plate on the desk and smiled. "It does in Dr. Port's arboretum, don'tcha know." Then she set down a bowl. "I made ya some of my tapioca too. Dr. Port said I'm to keep records of what you eat." Trudy frowned like she was a naughty child. "He's climbing the walls like a lion with worry." She whispered behind her hand, "Probably shouldn't say, don'tcha know, but I heard him and your mama debating calling in a doctor for ya."

"Ms. Van Hoodie," a stern voice said from the doorway.

Trudy paled and turned to face Jason.

He folded his hands behind back with his feet braced apart, reminding her so much of the man of the shadows she'd met weeks ago. "You will do well to remember gossip is not welcomed in this house."

"Yes, sir. I just thought she might be less stubborn about eating if she knew you might sic a doctor on her." Trudy wrung her hands, her worry so endearing.

Jason cocked an eyebrow, not seeming pleased with that response. "Not that it's your business unless Ms. Hoplin makes it so, but this has nothing to do with stubbornness."

"Oh dearie me." She turned around. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said such a mean thing."

She stepped around the desk to set a hand on Trudy's arm. "I think he's just worried. You didn't say anything mean, Trudy." She gave Jason a look to say he was being too harsh.

"Please go check on Mrs. Hoplin, Ms. Van Hoodie. Stevens took up another suitcase to her room."

"Yes, sir." Trudy walked out.

She leaned back against the desk. "You are far too formal with her and Pete. They wouldn't dream of working anywhere else, and it would mean so much to them if you opened up a little more."

He strode over. "Business is business with all my employees."

Tilting her head to look up at him, she cocked an eyebrow. "Are you going to order me about too, Dr. Port?"

"I might swat your perfect little bottom for getting sassy," he smiled and lifted her shirt to reveal her ribs.

His words brought a smile to her lips that died just as fast when he lifted her shirt. "What are you doing?"

Running his hands down her sides, he bent down to look. "Since you refuse to get on a scale, I have to watch your weight other ways. I don't recall seeing every rib when I stripped you from your car accident." Then he spun her around and the tips of his fingers slid down her jeans waistband to rub over her hip bones. Then his hands skimmed around her hips, as if measuring how many of his hands it took to wrap around.

"Oh, I highly doubt this is legitimate. Good excuse to get your hands down my pants."

"If you won't get on a scale or let me use a tape measure, I'm left with this." He sounded serious. Then his hands gently wrapped around her neck.

"What-" She pulled away and sat down at the desk again.

"Height, hip, and neck measurements are used for women's BMI in the Army." He leaned his hands down on the desk, looking like the formidable master of the house.

"I'm keeping down small meals now. It's fine." She resumed work.

He sighed. "You're pale, Emma, and sleeping like the dead."

Her head whipped to him. "Are you coming in my room at night?"

His eye didn't waiver. "You refuse to see a doctor-"

"Apparently I have one checking on me." She gave him a dry look.

With a clenched jaw, he obviously tried to keep his temper in check. "It's so awful having someone care if you get sick." Then he stormed out and slammed the door.

She almost got up and went after him. But she wasn't ready to tell him that she'd been on edge since receiving notice that she had to testify at Gaston's trial for his release. Somehow he'd gotten charges for the recent assault decreased to just another three months in jail. If she told Jason about the trial, he'd want to come. And then he'd hear the medical reports and her description of the rape. She still felt drained from the funeral; she couldn't take him finding out all the gory, humiliating details of this.

* * *

After lunch, he came down the stairs. She waited for him at the bottom. "Jason, I'm sorry. You were trying to help, and I shouldn't be difficult."

He shook his head. "Forgive me. I have an appointment today that I'm dreading, and I took my temper out on you."

Her eyes narrowed. He carried the stress around his eye and the tightness of his mouth. "Is it medical? I can come."

With a shake of his head, he looked away. "It's not medical."

"Oh."

He kept his eyes diverted in dismissal.

"I'll see you when you get back."

His mouth opened. And then closed. His forehead wrinkled, and his heart visibly thundered in his chest. But he didn't look at her, although he looked incredibly upset. "Um..." His eye searched the floor.

She stepped closer. He never said 'um' or the like. If he was uncertain what to say, he remained silent. "Jason?" She set a hand on his chest. "What's wrong?"

His chest rose and fell with stress-filled breaths. "I'll be around if you need anything, but I won't see you for a week or two. I'll be available by text or Ms. Van Hoodie or Stevens."

"What? Will you be traveling?" This made no sense that he'd be around but not around.

He shook his head and swallowed hard, still not looking at her. "I'm late. I have to go." Then he walked away, detouring into the kitchen for a moment.

Pete stood at the door looking a little worried. She hurried to him. "Open the car. And don't tell him I'm inside."

"But-"

She shook her head and grabbed her coat. "He wants me to come for whatever it is but won't say it." Then she slipped out the door and slid into the far side of the backseat.

He opened the door a minute later and got in. Then he startled when he saw her. Pete got in and started driving.

"You don't have to tell me. I'll just wait in the car." She reached over and slipped her bare hand into his gloved one. "You wanted me to come but didn't want to give the details, so there won't be details."

He pulled off his gloves and took the liberty of putting them on her himself, even though they were far too big. Then he held her hand tight and looked out his window for a moment.

It had something to do with the scars. He seemed to be building up the nerve to discuss it. She unbuckled and rebuckled in the middle seat to be beside him. "Whatever it is, I'll be here, Jason." Despite the nerves over what had him so frightened, her voice remained calm and even.

He heaved a shakey breath and kept his gaze out his window. "Rather than dental visits twice a year like a normal person, I have to go four times due to...well, my altered anatomy." She frowned. He must be referring to his mouth turning down from the scarring. "Teeth aren't meant to have constant air exposure, and it damages enamel. I've seen different specialists over the years for problems it's caused." He hesitated. She frowned, not quite following what was going on. "If some of the issues haven't improved, he's pulling five teeth in my lower jaw today." She stared at the back of his head in horror. "I'm just stressed." He shrugged.

"He's WHAT?!" she practically screeched.

His head whipped around to her in surprise.

"No. Absolutely not." She shook her head.

He blinked. "Emma, four other oral surgeons agreed."

Her eyebrows shot up. She held up a hand. "There's no time for embarrassment or me using sensitive language here. We're going to be blunt. Your bottom lip is below your teeth is my understanding, right?" He nodded, despite his face reddening with embarrassment. "And your teeth also act as your lip when you eat, keeping food in, correct?" Again, he nodded but glanced away when he did so. "So, how the hell are you supposed to eat?"

The dear man swallowed his pride and answered. "A soft food diet for a year. Then dental implants are a possibility."

She shook her head. "If you were a ninety pound old lady, you could get in enough food to survive. A man your size would have to eat practically all day."

He slowly nodded. "A gastroenterologist said a feeding tube might need to be placed," he said quietly.

She openly cursed, her blood boiling. These asinine doctors had no idea what they were doing. "Why in God's name five at once? Does anybody remember getting wisdom teeth out? Those were four spread throughout the mouth. My dentist only did two at a time, and that was a bitch. What idiot came up with this idea of five at once?"

He choked back a smile. "Sorry. I've never heard you curse so much."

"Well, come on! This is stupidity at it's finest. Why are you agreeing to this?"

"I've already had root canals on a couple of the molars. He said they looked like they didn't take. Another probably needs a root canal, but it likely won't work either. I keep getting...this is a bit gross but since we're being frank...an abscess between my incisor and front tooth three or four times a year because of the anatomy issue. The surgeons said it's more of extensive surgery to pull teeth on an adult, so it requires general anesthesia. He said to just do it all at once."

She pinched the bridge of her nose. This couldn't be a good idea. There had to be another option. "And they can't do plastic surgery to fix your lip?"

He hesitated. "My cheek and lips were substantially rebuilt," he said quietly. "It would require many more surgeries to fix it better, but it's still too late for the teeth."

"And what about your speech. That many teeth must have an impact on speech."

He slowly nodded. Oh god, he looked so humiliated. "I needed speech therapy after the accident due to the amount of my face that burned off. He's going to start coming again tomorrow."

Shaking her head, she looked at him and bit her lip. "Jason, this doesn't seem like a good idea. It doesn't make sense. I can't tell you to not do it, but I wouldn't consent to anything today. I don't know the answer, but maybe a university clinic or something would have more options."

"I don't know what to do. I've seen the best."

"Are your teeth paining you now?"

"No." He sighed and looked out the window. "Sometimes I feel like I'm old already, Emma," he said softly. He gave a bitter laugh. "I probably haven't told you I'm half deaf in my right ear from the heat of the fire. I had severe enough smoke inhalation damage that I was on a respirator for a few days. Because of the damage, if I get the respiratory flu, I end up with pneumonia. Every couple years I have to have scans to make sure I don't get lung or esophageal cancer."

Her brow furrowed, and she cocked her head. It tore her heart out to hear it all, but this wasn't like him. "Are you feeling sorry for yourself?"

He looked straight at her, his blue eye icy cold. "I'm saying you should run. You've seen what your mother's going through. Odds are you'll far outlive me." His voice rang just as cold. The car pulled up.

Her jaw clenched. "Stop it."

His hand pulled away from hers. "It's reality, Emma," he growled. Then he got out and slammed the door.

She whipped off her seatbelt and hurried out to catch him at the front door. The winter wind whipped, but she only focused on him. Grabbing his sleeve, she jerked as hard as she could to turn him. He looked furious. "You don't know that's reality. And if it is, I'd rather have a few years of a life with you than a lifetime with someone else." Then she kissed him soundly. When she let go, she searched his face. "I understand that so many things people take for granted are trials for you. You did something that night that I don't understand yet, but I think you chose to go into that fire. When you were in the bathroom on my birthday, my dad said I should marry someone like you." His face started to soften. She tucked strands of hair whipping around her face behind her ear. "I've only known you a month, but it feels like my whole life, Jason. I'm not walking away. Not when I've been trying to find you for thirty years."

His lips pressed together and his brow furrowed. He looked down and tears glistened in his eye. "I'm no bargain, Emma." Then he looked at her, and the tear slid down his cheek. "I stopped looking for you three years ago the first time I saw my face. I don't want you to leave."

She flung her arms around him, and he held her tight. So much fear and pain existed under the surface. And she loved him all the more for his strength.

"Dr. Port?" A receptionist popped her head out the door. "We're ready for you."

He nodded without turning around and sniffled.

She let go and brushed his tear away and then her own. "I made you late. They're going to think we're lunatics for standing in the snow crying."

He smiled and kissed her forehead. "Thank you, Emma. I'm sorry, I have to go. Wait inside?"

She nodded but masked the surprise. Somehow she'd stumbled into greener pastures. He took her hand and led her inside.

The receptionists should have given her some laughing gas with how much she paced and flipped through each magazine fifty times trying to pass the time while waiting for a friend from grad school to return a call about a specialist oral surgeon. He came out twenty minutes later, and she shot up from the chair and met him in the deserted corner of the waiting room. He looked stressed.

"I don't know what to do. He's insistant on pulling the teeth," he said quietly. "He says the two molars with the root canals are dying and those two should be pulled at least."

She touched his arm. "Jason, I think if you felt you needed to come out and discuss it, that's your answer."

He heaved a deep sigh. "Who else do I ask? I've been to the top surgeons in the US, and they're all in agreement."

"Jason, you're an intelligent doctor. We go home and start looking online. I think you're a little panicked. Request your records today, and we go from there. I've called a classmate who went into medical writing for dental research. It's s long shot, but she might know someone good."

He heaved a sigh of relief. The calm, confident doctor returned. "Alright. I should be back out in a few minutes." He brushed a kiss over her lips and left.

Her friend knew a connection to an oral surgeon who specialized in reconstruction for burn victims. He returned the call instantly when Jason left a message in the car, and Jason read him the medical records over the phone. When he hung up just a mile from home, he smiled.

"Emma, you're right. He is in California and is squeezing me in next week. The two root canal teeth might need to go, but he thinks he can save the rest."

Her eyebrows rose. "Next week? How?"

He looked uncomfortable. "Very few cases like mine exist." His eyes looked away. "It falls under some kind of disability research grant or something that he got."

"Then he must have some good ideas," she smiled. Completely overlooking 'disability' made him relax, as hoped.

The poor man seemed hesitant. "Would you come?"

"I was planning on it," she smiled.

He smiled and held her hand, raising it to his lips.

* * *

Someone was watching. She shot up in bed, her heart hammering in her throat. The fire in the fireplace had been banked to leave everything pitch black except for a candle burning near on the nightstand.

A male hand reached toward her.

She screamed and shot up in bed. Her chest heaved in fear. The fire glowed in the fireplace. A nightmare. It'd been a nightmare. A large silhouette sat to her left. She screamed.

He reached for her. "Em-"

She tore to the door like the Devil himself chased her. "Jason!" she screamed with all her terror. He said something, but the words didn't register. The door wouldn't open. Her shaking hands fumbled with the lock, unable to grasp it. A hand touched her back. She whipped around and flung out a fist. It caught him in the chest. She slammed a knee up to hit his groin.

He caught it with his hand. He snapped something, his words unintelligible in her panic. Then he backed up a step. She took the opportunity. The heel of her hand slammed up to smash his nose. But he caught it and flung a leg out, knocking her legs out from under her. His hand locked around her wrists, immobilizing them. His other hand cupped behind her head as she slammed down. He shouted something, but she bucked and fought as he climbed on top of her. His leg pinned down her thighs, and he held her hands immobile above her head. He had her utterly helpless. "Enough, Emma!" he roared so loud her ears rang.

Her chest heaved and the blood roaring in her ears faded a bit. Her eyes searched the darkness in their corner of the room.

"It's me, Emma." Jason's voice sounded shaken but gentle. "It's me."

She heard but couldn't believe. "Get off," she ordered, her voice shaking.

"I'm wearing the ski mask," he said and slowly let go.

She scrambled backwards toward the door. He moved into the firelight. She stilled as he unbuttoned his white shirt and revealed the burn on his shoulder. "Jason?" she whimpered.

When he held out a hand, she ran into his arms. "I didn't mean to scare you. I came in to check if you were alright because you looked ill today. Your heartrate was so fast that I stayed for a minute. You must've been dreaming." He held her tight against his chest.

His heart beat calm and steady under his warm skin against her cheek. She didn't want t live like this anymore, so terrified of the night. So terrify to sleep because Gaston waited in her dreams. "Can you call that therapist?" she whispered.

He sagged with relief. "Of course, sweetheart."

Her fists crushed handfuls of his shirt, and her shoulders shook as tears ran down. She buried her face against his chest, desperate to be saved from the monster who haunted each time she closed her eyes. His arms tightened around her. "He's there," she sobbed.

His heart beat faster. "You're safe, Emma-"

A man burst into the room. "Sir-" She screamed, practically clawing Jason to hide in his arms.

"Stevens, get out!" Jason barked and swung her around to put himself between her and the door. The door slammed. "He's gone. It's alright, sweetheart."

"I can't," she sobbed. "I can't testify again next month."

"What? What are you talking about, Emma?" he demanded. "Your ex? You have to testify against him?"

She nodded against his chest. "For what happened three years ago."

He shook with rage. "Like hell you do! I will get five lawyers if I have to! What dipshit decided you need to relive it again?! They have the papers and tapes!" he practically roared.

It helped, for some reason, to see the calm doctor so outraged. She laid a hand on his chest and encountered something warm and sticky. Lifting her hand into the firelight, she gasped when golden light glistened off red blood. "Jason?" She pulled back.

"How can those morons think this is possibly good for you to relive it!" He paced, his fit far from over. When he turned and paced toward the fire, four deep nailtracks ran across his chest. A couple drops of blood had begun to trail down.

She looked down at her fingernails to see red underneath. "Jason, I'm so sorry."

"What?" He stopped and looked at her in confusion.

"Your chest. I have blood all over my hand."

He looked down and blinked.

She brushed away her tears with the back of her other hand and turned to go into the bathroom. "Come here."

Stripping off his shirt, he continued cursing but followed. She washed her hands and then dug out some bandages and other items. A smile touched her lips when he still growled about the hearing.

He sat on the counter and finally looked at her. "When did you find out?" Compassion filled his eye.

"This morning when we arrived. I had all my mail forwarded from my apartment." Her voice sounded as small as she felt when he frowned. "I don't want you to come, but I didn't want to hurt your feelings." She bit her lip and stepped over. Then she glanced up at him. He seemed to be lost in thought. "This might sting," she warned and dabbed at the wounds across his muscular chest with antiseptic.

He hissed in a breath, and she gave him a moment to adjust before continuing.

"Are you afraid I'll lose my temper and hurt you?" He sounded so sad that it tugged her heartstrings.

She looked up into his eye. "No. I know you'd want to help and come to be supportive. They'll probably read the medical report from last time and play the 911 call...it wasn't the neighbors who called the police. It was me." Tears gathered in her eyes. "The raping is on the tape, but I had to repeat every detail..." Her lip quivered. When tears glistened in his eye, it didn't help keep up her walls. "It was so degrading. I feel like I have dignity with you. I can't lose that," she sniffled.

He cupped her cheek and looked deep into her eyes. "You will never lose that. No one can ever take that. No matter what happens to you, I will always love you."

Her eyebrows slowly rose and folded together. Tears welled in her eyes for a different reason this time. "What?" she whispered. Her heart beat faster with hope that he'd said what she thought.

"I love you, Emma." His words whispered soft and pure. He leaned closer, their lips a hairs breath apart. The slit in the mask, however, wasn't large enough to permit a kiss. "Close your eyes," he breathed and held the edge of the mask under his neck.

Her eyes fluttered shut, the butterflies in her stomach flapping wildly. He loved her. He trusted her enough to have faith she wouldn't look if he removed the mask.

His warm lips touched hers, soft and gentle. She deepened the slow, patient kiss. Even though he kept his head tilted so the bad side was up, he didn't seem tense this time with trying to limit how far her mouth touched. Her tongue stroked his. The left side of her lips felt the tightness and slight bumpiness of his scars. The lower quarter portion of his lip almost seemed to be missing entirely because it left his lower teeth exposed. But it was a beautiful kiss. She needed more. This unguarded tenderness was a balm on the wounds in her heart. His trust that she'd catch him made her not afraid to jump into his arms. He slowly pulled away.

"No," she whispered in a soft plea with her head still upturned to him. "Kiss me again. Just you. Like that." Her heart stumbled with sadness for him when she heard a tissue pull out of the box. He must need to wipe the corner of his mouth. Her hope fell flat when he didn't say anything. Obviously he'd been pushed past his limit. She stepped back and lowered her head. He'd given enough; she shouldn't ask for more.

His hand cupped her cheek, and she nuzzled into his loving touch. "You prefer to be kissed like that?" He sounded surprised.

"It's just you. No hiding or tension or fear; no masks. There are no scars. It's just us, Jason," she whispered, keeping her eyes closed. "I-"

He cut off her words with another kiss. This time, he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her with hunger, the love and passion overwhelming. He slid down to his feet. Her hands held his upper arms as she raised onto her toes, needing to be as close to him as possible. The scars prevented him from opening as wide as normal, so she tilted her head more and captured his lips.

Her tongue swept through his mouth, learning the smoothness of his teeth and the warping on the inside of his cheek. He let her explore. Her tongue grazed the corner of his lips where taught skin forced a permanent frown. Then she softly caught what was left of his bumpy bottom lip on that side between her teeth and gave a soft tug. Even though he wouldn't feel it, he'd sense the tug. He moaned deep in his chest. Then she moved to the other side of his mouth, and he responded much better with sighs and moans of pleasure. But he held back a little.

"Kiss me," she whispered against his lips. Her heart needed more. "You're so beautiful. Bare yourself to me again. Show me how much you love me."

He kissed her deeply, his mouth crushed against hers in its entirety. Her nose brushed hardened, warped skin, but he seemed too lost in the kiss to notice. He finally broke the kiss, a tissue scraping as it was pulled out of the box.

"Say it again," she whispered, keeping her eyes closed.

"I love you." His breath stirred over her lips. "I love you, Emma. I love you with all my heart," he whispered.

A smile caressed her lips. "I love you, Jason."


	32. Chapter 32

She walked down the hall on his arm the next morning, with a smile still on her lips. "Thank you for letting Prince sleep in bed with me last night. I didn't wake up again."

He nodded, the ski mask covering more of his face than she liked, but the plastic mask was uncomfortable for him to wear often. "If it helps, he can sleep on your bed." He held up a finger. "But not any other furniture. I expect that rule to be obeyed better than this sock issue," he grumbled and glanced down at the dog.

Prince trotted along happily with three socks in his mouth, one of them from Jason's laundry.

"We're practicing," she flushed.

He gave her a dry look. "You let him do whatever he pleases."

"He's such a good boy, and it doesn't hurt anyone that he steals socks. He doesn't chew holes in them." She looked up at him with big eyes.

"Don't give me that look," he laughed. "I have five pairs of socks without matches. I found one sock jammed in the crease of my office chair. Now who would have put it there? That would have been lovely if I had a client in there when I found it."

She cocked her head. "Clients come? Who are your clients?"

"Sometimes the physicians I work on patents with. On rare occasion we work together in person."

"Where are we going?" The hallways seemed to keep winding forever.

"The arboretum. I showed your mother yesterday, and she hasn't come out since." He smiled. "It seems to help her having something to tend to. She and Ms. Van Hoodie have taken a fancy to each other." At the end of the hall stood massive, frosted glass doors with rose etchings.

"What is this fascination you have with roses?" She looked up at him.

He paused at the door and held her eyes, his gaze so heartbreaking. "It helped to pretend there would be a woman I was making it all for. A woman to whom I could give red roses." Then he stepped closer and cupped her cheek in his hand. "I didn't know at the time that I was building it for you."

His husky voice made her heart stumble and knees weaken. "You are a romantic, aren't you?" she breathed.

"Only for you, Emma," he whispered.

His breath breezed over her lips. She needed his kiss, his pure, tender touch. "Kiss me, Jason," she sighed and rose onto her toes, leaning a hand on his chest well away from the scratches.

A twinkle gleamed in his eye, obviously teasing when he said, "Are you that insatiably curious about my mouth?"

She shook her head. "I fell that hopelessly in love," she breathed.

The glint faded in his eye, and he looked like he couldn't even fathom the idea that she desired his unveiled kiss for any other reason than curiosity. She lowered onto her heels and searched his eye. "Do you not like it?"

His eye searched her face. "It can't be very pleasant. I was so caught up in everything last night that I didn't think about how…what exactly you can feel during it. I didn't mean to subject you to it."

'Subject' her to his kisses? "Don't," she begged. "Don't ruin it. You trusted me last night. I don't care how much scarring there is. You let me get close last night like you never have. You didn't fear me. It was _your_ kiss. That's why it was beautiful. I want that closeness with each other."

His eyes fell, and it was clear she'd lost him. She couldn't think about it that he might never kiss her like that again without a mask or barrier between them, between their hearts. She stepped back and turned to the arboretum doors, struggling to hide the bleeding in her heart. "Jason?" Her heart slammed, and she clutched her hands together, fearing his answer. "Did you mean it last night that you love me?" Her voice trailed off, unable to hold strong. Silence stretched on until tears blurred her vision. Her heart shattered, the broken pieces scattered all around. She turned to find refuge in her room away from him when his words stopped her.

"I would never say something like that without it being truth." His voice didn't ring as strong as normal. Then he wrapped his arms around her. "I'm sorry I hurt you. I need more time. You don't know how terrified I was to come to you this morning, expecting you'd recoil from my touch after last night. I need time, Emma. I love you, and I'll never take that back."

She held him tight. She would earn his trust. In time, he would have enough faith in her love that he'd no longer hide his face. In time, he'd come to their marriage bed without any walls, and they'd create a family. In time.

He took her hand and led her inside.

The greenhouse ceiling stretched up into the sky, easily able to accommodate the handful of palm trees scattered around the half acre. Hibiscus trees of vibrant pinks and yellows bloomed in all their glory. Tulips and other various flowers grew along a stone path weaving through the arboretum. The roses, though, ruled this world. Roses climbed up the walls and palm trees. Large, thick bushes flowered with roses of white, red, pink, yellow, and an abundance of other colors of the rainbow. A pair of blue jays and cardinals flew in the trees above. Her mouth fell open. Beauty like this didn't exist in real life. Here existed a piece of Heaven.

"Do you like it?" He sounded anxious to know.

"I've never seen anything this beautiful. Do you grow this all yourself?"

"I do. I find it peaceful in the early evenings when the sunset casts its rainbows in here." He led her down the path to the back where the colors had disappeared. Her mom sat on a gardening pad, wearing gardening gloves, and dug in the dirt. The rose bushes here were thin and struggled to survive. "Your mother is going to try to revive these. I can't figure out what else to do, but she has ideas."

Her mom looked up with a big smile. "Hi, baby. Your cheeks have more color today. Isn't this place amazing?" Then her gaze shifted to Jason. "This dried blood meal works wonders on my roses. I'm going to try it."

He knelt down and tilted back the bag beside her mom. "I don't think I ever would have thought of this." He smiled in approval.

She smiled. He'd be such a wonderful father. Then she shook her head. Her biological clock must be screaming. They'd only been dating a month after all.

"You don't have to stay in here all day. I promise I won't lock you out," he teased her mom. "I was going to bring up your lunch, but then I thought you might want dinner in here, and then a bed…" The laughter was apparent in his voice.

Her mom smiled. "It's just so lovely in here. And the birds' singing is so peaceful. I called the lawyer you suggested, and she agreed with you that we can go after the insurance company."

She smiled and looked at Jason. "You suggested that?"

He looked up at her and nodded. "I've had my share of legal issues, and this just seemed odd. My lawyer recommended an estate lawyer." Then he looked at her mom. "You're free to have Stevens drive or fly you to wherever you need. I don't have any travel coming up, aside from needing the jet next Wednesday. Stevens can fly the helicopter. Is the lawyer requiring a fee upfront? I talked to the bank this morning, and they need ten days to transfer the funds being it's not considered a normal amount for a transaction. Does she need funds before that to get started?"

Her mom glanced at her and then Jason.

She knelt beside Jason. "Mom, it's alright. We can pay him back with the settlement."

"She's asking for five thousand. The rest will be taken out after the settlement is disbursed."

He didn't bat an eye. "Pay it back if and when you want. I mean it. Call your lawyer and tell her the funds will be wired this afternoon so she can begin work immediately. Shall we go on a road trip to the bank, ladies?"

Her mom pulled out her phone and emailed Jason the wiring information. "I think I'll just stay here if you don't need me to sign any papers."

"No," he said patiently. "You need to get out. We'll be back in two hours, with half of the trip being in the car."

Fifteen minutes later, they were in the car, with Jason wearing the half mask. She didn't want her mom to feel like the third wheel, so she started getting in the passenger seat next to Pete.

Jason held the door open for her mom, who slid in the back seat. "Emma? The seat is large enough it will accommodate all of us. You and I might be a hair tight, but…" He shrugged.

"No, I'm alright. I'll ride in the back on the way home." She hopped in before he said anything.

"Are you my gun slinger?" Pete smiled and started up the car.

"Yes, sir. I'm ready to take on the mountain lions."

He smiled. The divider window rolled down, and he instantly sobered.

She gave his big bicep a playful punch. "Scare-dy cat," she whispered for his ears alone and smiled. "Mom, did you try some of Pete's cookies? They're better than the bakery at home."

Pete paled, and his eyes flew to the rearview mirror.

"I already knew you bake when I'm not home, Stevens," Jason said dryly.

"They are very good," her mom smiled.

She turned in her seat a bit in order to see Jason sitting behind her. "Have you tried them? I made the same recipe, but they didn't come out good." She frowned.

Pete snorted trying not to laugh.

"Don't laugh! Prince ate them." She turned up her nose and gave him her best haughty look.

"Cuz everyone else would've died from them." He glanced in the mirror. "Ms. Hoplin," he added.

"Don't call me that like I'm old," she threw in as a side note. "They were only a little burned," she said in her defense.

Her mom laughed. "Baby, you were gifted with many things, but cooking isn't one of them."

She laughed, having to admit her mom was right. Her eyes traveled to Jason, and he didn't look pleased. She looked at him in question when her mom started talking to Pete. He held her eyes for a moment, his brow furrowed in disapproval before he looked out his window.

She changed the topic. Perhaps Jason wasn't happy to know the staff used the kitchen for pleasure in his absence. But if he knew and never put a stop to it, maybe something else bothered him. "Do you play Euchre, Jason?"

"I know the rules but haven't had an occasion to play in a while," he said, seeming to relax a hint.

Stupid question. Of course he hadn't been around enough people at once to play if he didn't play with staff. "Mom and I are a mean team," she smiled and winked at her mom. "We can play individuals with just three, or Pete or Trudy can swap in."

Pete smiled, with his eyes remaining on the road. "I'm scared of you and cards." He chuckled and elbowed her gently.

She laughed. "I'm better at Euchre than when we tried playing cards." Jason remained quiet for the ride, not participating in much conversation.

When they arrived at the bank, she pulled him aside. "Is everything alright?"

"Is he respectful to you when I'm away?"

She blinked. "Pete? Yes. Why?"

"If he pokes fun at you like that when I'm right there, he must do it worse when I'm not." Protectiveness hardened his eye.

"We were just playing around."

He sighed deeply through his nose. "Emma, if things progress with us, he needs to take you seriously as an employer, not a playmate."

Her eyebrows rose. "Are you scolding me for how I talk to Pete and Trudy?"

"No, I'm simply saying to keep that in mind. Stevens can have a rough edge. I trust that he wouldn't hurt anyone, but he can get an attitude at times. You can't get as cozy with him as you can Ms. Van Hoodie."

He was trying to be helpful. She let the irritation roll off her back this time. Then he offered his arm to her and her mom. Curiously enough, he stepped around her to put her mom on his blind side.

The moment they walked into the bank, a banker walked up. "Dr. Port, a pleasure to see you again. Would you like a private office?"

She blinked. Who got service like this at a bank? Both she and her mom turned to go in the sitting area.

"Yes, please. Emma?" She turned. He held out his hand to her. "Mrs. Hoplin, you're welcome to come along."

"I'm fine to wait, thank you." Her mom sat.

He looked like he wanted her to come, so she gave a glance to her mom and then took his arm.

The banker led them upstairs and into a large office labeled for the CEO Mark Smathe. "What can we help you with today, Dr. Port?" He waved for them to sit on one side of the desk.

"Wiring a transfer, please." He waited for her to sit and then sat himself, unbuttoning his suit jacket. A slight arrogance exuded from him.

"Yes, sir. I'll get Mr. Smathe for you. Can I offer you refreshments or anything?"

"No, thank you." When the man left, she looked at him. "They are overly accommodating for being a large client. I'm sure they'd slit their own throats if I asked," he said in disgust. "I prefer not to be stared at in the lobby, so I take the offer of the office for transactions." He looked at her, seeming more like himself. "Forgive the arrogance. On occasion I need funds moved quickly for business, and throwing my weight around gives the clout for them to move things along."

"May I ask how big of a client you are?" Or maybe she didn't want to know.

"Let's just say this is a small chain of six banks. I know for a fact that they might struggle if I take my business elsewhere." He watched her closely when she raised her eyebrows. "I asked you here because you will need financial records for the business if you're going to examine tax records for the last three years. You'll be signing onto the account, which in no way affects your personal finances or taxes or anything."

The CEO walked in at that minute, a man in his late forties or so. Jason stood and held down his hand to her. She stood too.

"Dr. Port, always a pleasure." He shook Jason's hand.

"Mr. Smathe, good to see you. This is Mr. Smathe, CEO, and this is Ms. Hoplin, a _very important_expert of mine who may be signing on as a financial consultant for one of my accounts."

She frowned. Odd that he introduced her as an expert rather than his girlfriend or employee. Jason had something up his sleeve.

Mr. Smathe looked alarmed. "Is there concern about your account? I assure you we take the utmost precautions-"

Jason held up a hand. "No, she's reviewing finances from my business accountant. Your services have always been sublime, Mr. Smathe. I trust this will remain strictly confidential."

"Of course." The man's eyes lit up with dollar signs. "Welcome, Ms. Hoplin. I'm sure we'll be able to serve your needs. Dr. Port is our best customer, and we take his accounts very seriously." He shook her hand and indicated for them to sit. When they did, he sat at his desk and folded his hands. "What can I help you with today?"

Jason pulled up the wiring number for the lawyer. "I'd like five thousand wired to this lawyer. It's a bit of an urgent matter, and I trust you'll be able to get it through this afternoon."

"Of course. I can do it now, Dr. Port." The man picked up his phone. "Please send up Ms. Granger with the paperwork for an urgent wire transfer for Dr. Port." He hung up. "It will only take a moment. Which account would you like to sign Ms. Hoplin onto, Dr. Port?"

A woman knocked and then stepped in. "Excuse me." She took the information from Mr. Smathe to go complete the wire transfer.

Jason rattled off an account number by heart once the woman closed the door. "And I would like Ms. Hoplin to have unlimited access to all files. At her say-so at any point, access to any employee will be shut down immediately."

She looked at him quickly. He held her eyes. Did he intend she'd figure out who the thief is too?

Mr. Smathe looked a bit surprised too. "Are you saying you want to list her as joint owner of the account?"

"No, that would make her legally responsible for any fraudulent activity, would it not?"

"Well, yes."

"I want her to have unlimited access. We have a longstanding relationship, Mr. Smathe. I would hope that your institution would continue working your magic on occasion. A phone call from Ms. Hoplin, obviously providing sufficient ID over the phone, should be adequate in shutting down an employee's access, yes?" he pressed.

Apparently Jason was asking a large favor, if the nervous look in Mr. Smathe's eye was any indication. "Of course, Dr. Port. Ms. Hoplin, please sign at the 'x.'" He typed in the computer, pulled a paper off the printer, and set it on the desk with a pen.

She picked up the contract and started reading it over.

"It mainly states the limitations of access-" Mr. Smathe began.

"Ms. Hoplin may read the full terms if she wishes," Jason cut in.

"Oh, of course." The man printed out more papers.

She looked at Jason quickly and sat back in the chair to point out the current balance of the account that had to be wrong. A little over five million dollars. He nodded like it was nothing out of the ordinary. His words from the opera came crashing back and made sense now that she should know what she was working on for him. "I'm not signing without knowing what this place is," she whispered.

Jason looked at the CEO. "We need to discuss something. May we have a private room for a moment?"

She stared when the CEO stood.

"You may use this office." He stepped out.

Then she turned to Jason. "Just how big of a client are you that the _CEO_ leaves his office for a client?"

"Large enough." He looked her in the eye. "I wondered how long it would take you to ask about your job. You are working on a nonprofit charity-"

"Nonprofit?! What charity has five million sitting in the bank?" she hissed, keeping her voice down. How dazzled had she been by him to take a job and have no idea what the business was? She could kick herself for the stupidity.

"It's largely funded by a trust I've established, for which the interest alone supports a great deal of it. There are also benefactors who give donations. It's only three years old, so there isn't too much of a mess for you to sort through."

"A charity for what?" she demanded.

"Plastic and reconstructive surgery for children," he answered quietly.

That put out her fire. Somehow his answer didn't surprise her.

"Any child whose parents prove they cannot handle the medical expenses themselves can come. Cleft palates, and burn and domestic abuse victims are the cases we see the most. There have been a few spina bifida babies. It is a hospital, and about half of the staff donates their time. On occasion, a specialist surgeon is flown in if it's a condition we don't have the expertise to handle. We ask for families to pay as much as they're able. Some can pay five thousand, others only five dollars. If a child of privileged finances comes, we will provide the care if the services are covered and a donation of five hundred dollars is made. Those children, however, are put on the list behind the less privileged who have more urgent needs."

"I've heard of it," she said softly. "Charlotte's Hope." Then her brow furrowed. "Your helicopter is Charlotte. Who is Charlotte?"

He shook his head. "I need you to not look it up online, but I assure you it's not a woman or anyone you need to worry about." His hand slipped into hers. "There are some things I'm not ready to talk about yet."

She nodded, accepting his answer for now.

"The three accountants I hired before you have been working on this for six months and are still ten steps behind you, even when they put their heads together. By my very rough calculations based on self-sustaining dividends that should have been invested, half a million has been embezzled. That is money some of these children desperately need. You have the experience to know that when you figure this out, I need you to be an expert who testifies in the case. My instinct says two or three employees are in on this, based on what you've shown me so far. And I don't think they all work in the finance department, which is why I think you have such a mess on your hands figuring out how they're doing this. I think they're draining funds faster, so we're on a time clock, Emma. The charity is facing severe penalties if we don't figure this out by tax time. I can file for an extension, but time is up after this fall."

"Jason, I'm not a forensic accountant. I don't have the experience for this."

His eye looked into hers. "You are plowing through this, Emma. I don't know how, but you are putting the pieces together to make heads and tails of circles. I shouldn't put this on you, but I'm ready to beg."

"Of course I'll do it, but I don't know that I'll be able to figure it out in time, if ever." She bit her lip. "What happens to you if it's not solved?"

He shook his head. "I might get slapped with a fine, but I'll be fine financially. I have the paper trail to show it's not me embezzling. The hospital would shut down, though."

She slowly shook her head. "Jason, I'm not right for this job. You can't put this all on my head." All the little children having to leave with incomplete surgeries or never getting care again that they need because it's too expensive…

"This isn't on you, Emma. I have three other accountants still frantically working on it. I know I'm kind of pressuring you, and I don't mean to. But, Emma, your mind unlocks things in a way I haven't seen before. You think in these patterns and find order in chaos. I'm not asking you to be the savior; I'm just asking you to try. I talked to some of your professors and the lawyers at your previous job. You are far more intelligent than you realize. You don't have to sign today."

Her stomach flipped. Not knowing what she'd been working on had been better. The pressure made her head hurt now. It was like a sledgehammer pounding on her brain. She froze. A hammer…the paint receipt. The nuts and bolts receipt. The repair receipts. Her eyes searched the wall as the receipts floated up from memory after the hours and hours of studying them.

"Emma, what is it?"

"Jason? Does the janitor have access to credit cards or reimbursements?"

"Reimbursements," he frowned. "You think it's the janitor?"

"No," she smiled. "The janitor is their fallout man."


	33. Chapter 33

She sniffled in the lamp light at her desk, holding her head in one hand and staring at a receipt in the other.

Jason materialized out of the darkness and strode over, wearing the ski mask. "Sweetheart, it's eleven o'clock. I told you to not work past five. You're still getting better...Emma? What's wrong?" He walked around the desk and knelt beside her chair. His hand rubbed her back.

"A bike receipt." She gave a watery laugh. "Dad got me a bike for my sixth birthday. I was so scared I'd fall without training wheels. And I did, but he carried me up the driveway and held my hand while Mom cleaned my knee."

He rubbed her arm.

"Does it get better?" She sniffled and looked down at him.

"It does, love. I didn't miss my father much because I didn't know him, but I still miss my mother sometimes. After awhile you'll think of him without crying. And then you'll be able to talk about him. The ache never goes away, but it gets better." The gentleness in his voice carried through the darkness. "Come, sweetheart. Let's get your mind on something else before bed." He stood and helped her up. Then he wiped her tears and led her upstairs.

She leaned her head against his shoulder as she walked down the hall on his arm and interlaced their fingers. His hands were almost twice as wide and his fingers nearly two digits longer than hers. Funny how his hands had never stood out before. They had the strength and power to do such damage, yet they only made flourish whatever they touched. "Is your eye doing alright?"

"It is, love."

Rubbing her head, she frowned. "How many more days until the dental appointment?"

"Tomorrow, but you don't have to come. You're working so hard."

Lifting her head, she looked up at him. "Tomorrow? Did I work through the weekend?" The days must have flown past.

"You did. Remember we were going to watch a movie Saturday night?" He gave a forgiving smile.

"Why didn't you get me? Oh, Jason, I'm sorry."

He shrugged. "I did. You said you'd come in a minute three times."

"I must not have been paying attention because I don't remember that."

His hand patted hers on his arm. "It's alright. It's my own fault for pressing you into the job."

"Let's watch one tomorrow night..." Her voice trailed away. "Nevermind. You might not be up for a movie. Are you nervous?"

He cracked a smile. "Would it be normal to not be nervous?"

She nibbled her lip. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really." He led her to the arboretum doors and pushed it open.

Her hands flew to her mouth. "Oh, Jason," she whispered. Dozens of chinese lanterns glowed from the trees and ceiling, their electric tealights flickering and casting a soft golden glow on the flowers below. The stone walkway sparkled in the candlelight. Moonlight Serenade music played. She turned to Jason and couldn't stop smiling.

He smiled and turned up the volume on his phone before tucking it in his pocket. Then he held out his hand with a smile. When she took it, he pulled her in and held her close. He took slow, relaxing steps in time to the music, mostly dancing in one spot.

She rested her head on his chest. The light weight of his cheek resting on her head seemed so comforting. She loved this calmness about him. He knew how to escape the stresses of life and take her into this world of peace. Closing her eyes, she let the music sweep them away.

"Do you like this song?" His voice was low and quiet, as relaxed as she felt.

"Mmm," she sighed. "It's like what love feels like."

"I think of you whenever I hear it. It's so soothing, like you," he whispered. "Would you want it to be our song, Emma?"

A smile lit up her heart. "It's perfect," she whispered. He must have had it on repeat because it started over. She could listen to it all day. It made her slightly sleepy. "Jason? Do you have another mask besides the plastic one?"

"Just this one, love. Does it bother you?" A hint of worry colored his voice.

"It covers so much of your face that it scares me if I see you in the middle of the night. It's like I could be talking to a stranger and wouldn't know," she sighed, half way to slumberland.

"If more of the mask was cut away, would that help?"

She nodded and stifled a yawn.

"Keep your eyes closed, sweetheart."

His body shifted, and his head lifted for a minute. Then his mask brushed her back as he tucked it in his hand. His left cheek rested on her head again, this time his heat seeping into her hair.

She melted, for some reason feeling so close to him without the mask; that he trusted her enough to do this. "I love you," she whispered, her heart never so peacefully content.

"I love you, sweetheart."

"This is so perfect." She yawned again.

"Oh, sweetheart. Let's get you to bed."

"Just a few more minutes." The motion and music hypnotized her into a light slumber, the beating of his heart so calming. Her body grew heavier until her feet no longer moved. Only distantly aware of everything, her body lifted in Jason's arms. He cradled her and she nuzzled against his broad chest as he carried her toward the door. Sleep claimed her two steps later.

A horrified scream ripped through the haze of slumber and right into her ear opposite of Jason's chest. She startled hard and so did Jason. Her eyes flew open, with a heart beating a hundred miles a minute. Her mom stood in the doorway with scared eyes looking right past her. Oh god, Jason didn't have the mask on. She wiggled out of his arms at the same moment he half dropped her to her feet. Dashing to her mom, she shoved her back out the door and pulled it shut behind her so Jason could get the mask back on alone inside.

Her mom's chest heaved, panic frozen in her eyes.

She closed her eyes and buried her hands in her face. This didn't just happen. All the trust she'd earned from him the past weeks was broken in one instant. He'd pull away. It suddenly struck what life must be like for him; how cruel the world could be even when it didn't mean to. Tears pooled in her eyes.

"Emma, I'm so sorry. I didn't know what to expect exactly-"

"I know." Her voice broke, and she walked down the hall to lean against the wall and wrap her arms around herself.

The arboretum door groaned open. "Jason, I'm so sorry. I-"

"It's alright," he said quietly, sounding completely understanding. "I was walking Emma to bed."

Her mom walked over and set a hand on her shoulder. She kept her head down. If her mom saw the tears, she'd feel even more guilty. "It's alright. Everyone's tired, Mama." Her voice rang hollow. Her mom went down the hall.

A strong hand touched her back. She turned into his chest and let the sobs come.

"That's why I don't want you to see, Emma. I couldn't handle it if that sound came from you," he whispered. What her mom had done didn't seem to hurt him; it was the thought of her being that terrified of him herself that did. He walked her to the bedroom.

* * *

Jason smiled. "I love you, Emma."

She beamed with happiness and let him slide her wedding dress off her shoulders. She stood naked before him, and his eyes feasted.

"Beautiful." He sighed, seeming so captivated with his new wife.

She flushed and shyly stepped forward to strip him. Oh heavens, he was beautiful. Then she looked up at the ski mask.

He slowly nodded.

Pulling it off, blood began to trickle down her hand. She looked up at his bare face and screamed in horror. His burn was fresh and bloody, his cheek just shreds of burned skin threading his top and bottom jaw together and leaving gaping holes of teeth exposed. His eye hung by a thread, staring and bloody from a muscle-covered socket. Then he touched his face and looked down at his bloody hand. A scream of horror ripped out of his throat.

She screamed and shot up in bed. Prince jumped to his feet on the mattress and automatically growled at the door. Her eyes tore around the empty room. The fire burned bright in the fireplace, its heat keeping the chill at bay. Her chest heaved and hands shook. It seemed so real but must've been a dream. She needed to go make sure he was alright. Grabbing a flashlight, she banked the fire and then ran down the hall trying to outdistance the shadows. Prince chased at her heels. Darting into his room, she saw the lump of a form under blankets in the firelight. "Jason?" Her voice shook and he didn't move. She crept in and kept her eyes diverted, half afraid it hadn't been a dream. Shaking his leg, she turned so her back was to him. "Jason."

He drew a deep breath and shifted. "Emma?" SLet thickened his voice. He sat up, his leg slipping away from under her hand.

"I had a nightmare that you were bleeding from getting burned." Her voice broke. Prince turned in three circles and dropped down on a rug to sleep.

"The ski mask is on. I'm fine, sweetheart. Come here."

She turned. He was shirtless and wearing the mask, with an arm outstetched. Scrambling on the bed, she cuddled up to his side.

"Love, did your mother's reaction scare you?"

Hesitating for a moment, she finally nodded. "And I'm scared of how much pain you had that they kept you sedated for so long." She wept on his shoulder.

"Emma, I was knocked out when the beam fell on me in the fire. I remember feeling the force of the impact, but nothing else until I woke up three days later. They'd already done the brain surgery to rebuild my skull. I felt very little pain in my face because the nerves were burned off. My shoulder and the edges of the burns on my head hurt the worst because they were second degree. I was mostly comfortable, though. They gave high doses of morphine for a few days, and cold rags worked wonders. I was comfortable enough that I could focus on feeling sorry for myself for the first week."

She sniffled. "But you said you got scared of doctors and nurses because they brought pain."

He reclined back farther in the pillows until her head rested on his shoulder. "The dressing changes hurt, but I didn't cry or scream from them. Sweetheart, I was sedated for the worst of it. What hurt the most were the broken bones. Even that wasn't so bad."

"Liar."

He brushed away her tears. "You wound me, Emma." His voice rang melodramatic.

It didn't win a laugh from her. She wrapped an arm around his chest. "Jason?" She swallowed hard.

"Be honest with me." He stroked her arm.

"Now I'm scared that I'll be scared if I do see the burns." Her face crumpled. "I don't want to do that to you." She broke down in tears.

"Emma, oh my goodness, I think you're overtired." His voice held so much compassion. "Let's think about this. Trudy and Pete have seen me without a mask, the dentist, several nurses and doctors at the hospital...they didn't all scream in horror. If someone knows what to expect, they just startle or look shocked. If for some reason you do ever see, I don't expect you to not have any kind of reaction. That just wouldn't be normal."

"But you said you wouldn't torture your wife by letting her see you and then bed her. You're still you, not some monster."

"You're right. I am worried that, given your history, your mind might play tricks on you, though. We don't know how well you may or may not handle having sex, and then throw in the other factors, it could be a bad set up. What you went through was horrible. The fact that you get these panic hallucinations...Emma, I promise you'd have a panic attack seeing my face if I'm on top of you when making love. That would be extremely hard for you to recover from, and I don't know that you'd ever be able to fully trust me again. Fear will try to win you over from me. It's a road I won't take you down, Emma."

He was right. She might have flashbacks during sex as it is. But hope flickered that he was talking about marrying her. "Will you ever kiss me again without the mask?" Her fingers stroked the sprinkling of hair on his chest.

"In time, love." He kissed the top of her head. "Do you want to sleep in here?"

She nodded on his shoulder. "Doesn't the mask get hot, though?"

He slipped out from under her and pulled a second layer of drapes. "It itches more than anything. Will you be alright if I bank the fire and sleep with the mask off? The room will be dark. I'll set the alarm so I put the mask back on at sunrise."

He wouldn't sleep well, being half awake worried she might see him. He needed rest for the oral surgery tomorrow. "Yes, but I can sleep in my room." She got up and padded to the door, although her heart ached to stay with him. In the dark with him didn't frighten her like in the firelight alone.

Strong arms wrapped around her waist. "Stay with me," he whispered against her neck.

Leaning her head back against his shoulder and closing her eyes, she reveled in his embrace. With a nod, she stroked his thick arms around her.

"Hop in bed. We'll have to keep each other warm without a fire." While he doused the fire and left the door cracked open a couple inches, she burrowed under the blankets still warm from his body.

Pitch blackness enveloped them. The bed shifted from his weight. "Are you alright in the dark?"

"Yeah." When his arm curled around her, she scooted back against his chest. Something hard poked her bottom.

He pulled his hips back. "My apologies. It's a reaction to you in my bed. I'll be a gentleman." He sounded a bit embarrassed. His speech had a slight whispiness to it with certain words. It must be because there was no mask to act as the missing part of his lip.

She flushed and smiled. "I'm glad you want me," she whispered, suddenly shy. Then she relaxed against him, the hardness of his desire comforting and a reminder he'd protect her as his.

"Oh god, Emma, I can't sleep like this," he groaned, sounding like he was in agony. The poor man rolled onto his back.

"Then shut up and make love to me." A smile tugged at her lips, and she didn't turn to face him. She shouldn't goad him, but it was a bit fun having him want her so bad.

He gave a soft swat to her bottom through the blankets. "Sassy girl." A smile tinted his voice. "Do not tempt me, Emma. You don't know how much restraint it requires to not bed you."

She rolled over to rest her head on his shoulder, and he accomodated by tucking his arm around her. "Are you tired?"

His rich chuckle vibrated through the darkness. "Have you been paying attention at all the last five minutes? I'll be lucky if I sleep tonight." Then he fell silent. "You still haven't commented on my speech."

"Should I?" she countered.

"It be natural to."

She sighed. He wasn't going to let this go. "Fine. It's better than I thought it'd be, to the point of not being able to tell except for certain words. I see no need for a comment or discussion about it. Does that appease you, Dr. Port?"

His chest bounced with a silent laugh. "Yes."

The hard planes of his torso beckoned her touch until she stroked up from his collarbone to his naval over and over. "You spoke earlier like you're reconsidering marriage." She bit her lip. Gentle prodding might not make him close down.

"It's crossed my mind." He seemed hesitant to say more.

"Do you think you might want kids some day?" She squeezed her eyes shut. That pushed too hard.

He heaved a deep sigh. "It's not a question of want, Emma. I don't know that it would be fair to a child."

"Before the accident, what did you want from life?" Silence. Perhaps he contemplated the answer. Or shut down.

"I wanted it all," he sighed wistfully. "The white picket house in a town large enough to have things to do but not too big, the swingset and dog in the backyard, the wife who wouldn't mind my hospital hours and could hold down the fort, the three kids with maybe a surprise baby thrown in there...the front porch facing west so we could rock in rocking chairs as we grew old and the grandkids rode bikes on the sidewalk..." His voice trailed away. "Now I'd be happy with just a wife who could tolerate going to events alone and even just consummating the marriage." He swallowed hard.

"What if she found pleasure in your touch? What if the babies started coming?"

A heavy sigh escaped him. "Emma, once she sees my face, she will be a bit frightened. A bedding after that would be tolerated at best. She would feel alone and trapped. Parenting would mostly fall on her once the baby became old enough to fear me. It would build so much resentment."

Her heart beat faster. "But you said IVF as the worst case-"

"Before I thought about what it'd be like for her."

Her hand stilled. "You know I want children. Does that mean you're not serious about us?"

"I am serious about you, but I can't ask you to give up children." He held her hand, his thumb stroking the back of hers. "I want some kind of miracle, like some magical plastic surgery to be invented or something. I want that life with you, Emma, but I don't know you'd want it with me when it came down to the day-in and day-out living with it."

Her hand tightened in his. "Jason, in time you'll see how much I love you."

"We're getting ahead of ourselves."

She snuggled against him. He just couldn't see the future, but she could.

* * *

He bounced his leg in the waitingroom the next morning. She set a hand on his knee. "Jason, it'll be alright." He simply nodded and sat back, absently fiddling with her hand in his.

"Jason Port," the nurse called.

She kissed his cheek. "I'm right here if you need me."

He nodded and disappeared down the hall.

Then she started getting nervous. She paced and checked email on the phone and even started researching care for feedingtubes just in case.

Jason came out thirty minutes later just when she was about to climb the wall. She hurried over to him, the strain around his eye making her stomach twist in knots.

"He needs to pull one, and he thinks he can do something when he's in there to save the two molars and avoid a root canal on the other. He said that putting sealants on would help prevent further decay of the other teeth."

"Well, that's good, isn't it?" He looked so upset for a prognosis so much better than they'd expected.

His eye searched hers. "It's the incisor he's pulling."

She blinked. "Wait, I thought the other oral surgeon said two molars might need to be pulled, but the incisor and front tooth just had the abscess problem." The incisor helped serve as a lip. If that was pulled, he'd constantly have saliva running out of his mouth.

"He did a scan with some advanced equiptment." His brow wrinkled with worry. "He says he can redo the root canals on those two molars and clean out and seal the other so it won't need a root canal. The abscess keeps coming because an infection causes it. He showed me on the scan where a root died and broke off. It's been a constant infection inside the gum, but I don't have all the nerves to feel pain until it flares up bad. The tooth has hairline fractures and will start crumbling within a few months." He looked away for a moment and pressed his lips together, as if trying to swallow down the humiliation.

She rubbed his arm. "Talk to me." Looking up at him with love, she laid a hand on his chest. Maybe he'd open up if he felt secure in her devotion. "I love you no matter what comes along, Jason."

He swallowed hard and met her eyes. "I already have to pack gauze under the mask because..." His voice faded. Then he closed his eye and his voice finished in a whisper. "Of the drooling."

"Stop it." Keeping her voice low, she held his eye when he looked at her in surprise. It almost made steam come out her ears. "Don't talk about yourself like that. There is nothing wrong with you." Her heart thundered. Not more problems and humiliation for him. He had so many with the hearing loss, eye surgery, eating impairment, and now this. It just about ripped her heart out. But he needed her to be strong to help him through this, not pile on worries. She took a deep breath to calm herself. "Honey, if the tooth needs to go, it needs to come out before your jaw bone gets infected or something."

His shoulders sagged and he looked away, the heartbreak apparent on his face.

"Jason?"

He shook his head and looked at her with such sadness. "I was hoping you'd have some magical answer or something."

That ripped out and crushed her heart. "Oh, Jason." She held him tight. "It's going to be alright. We'll get the best speech therapist to help figure out how to handle it, if you want. As soon as the bone is healed in a year, you can get an implant, if you want. This is only temporary, Jason. Maybe a bridge can be put in after a few weeks that will help."

"A bridge?"

The hope in his voice almost brought tears to her eyes. When he pulled back, he was smiling.

"Didn't he talk about options afterwards?"

He turned a bit red. "I got upset and said I needed to talk to you. We didn't get that far."

She pressed her lips together to suppress a smile, touched he sought her out when he was upset. "Do you want me to come in with you? I can't promise not to faint, though." She smiled.

With a shake of his head, he kissed her forehead. "Thank you, Emma." Then he left, looking much more like himself.

A hygenist came out an hour later. "Emma?"

She stood, her heart racing. This couldn't be good. She followed the nurse into an empty back room.

"He's alright, but the tooth the doctor thought he could save is in much worse shape than is showing up on x-rays."

She closed her eyes. This wasn't happening. "Jason's under anesthesia, isn't he?"

"Yes. He said if we needed to consult for something, we should talk to you. The surgeon can speak to you, but I wanted to see if you have a strong stomach first. He's in the middle of surgery."

Even if she could stomach it, Jason wouldn't want her to see his face. "I can't handle blood. Perhaps if I'm not facing him?"

The hygenist nodded and led the way.

She had to swallow down bile when she heard teeth crunching as they entered the room. She kept her face turned away. Her knees weakened when a drill started grinding, and she dropped into a chair.

"Are you alright?" an older male voice asked.

She nodded and took deep breaths. "She said you need to pull another tooth?" More crunching. Oh god, the bile rose up in her throat. She could do this. She had to do this for Jason to make sure this tooth definitely needed to be pulled. The hygenist pressed a cup of cold water into her hand. "Thank you," she said breathlessly and took a big gulp.

"Yes. The nerve must be a bit damaged from the burn because the front tooth adjacent to the incisor should be paining him something terribly. I can see the roots. They're..."

When he started going into detail, she had to hold a hand over her mouth. Do it for Jason. Buck up and do this for him.

"Doctor," the hygenist warned. He cut off his description.

"And there's nothing to do to save it?" Her voice sounded tingy. She shifted her legs to get the blood back to her head. Deep breaths.

"I'm afraid not. The root canals on two molars went well. His lower lip has thickened scar tissue on the inside, which seems to be creating a slight callous rubbing raw from the teeth. My concern is a constant wound like that with constant cell turnover does have the risk of turning into cancer. I can shave that down a hair, and I think it won't bother him at all. It might need a stitch or two, or maybe just packing. It depends how deep the scarring is into the tissue."

Oh god, the room spun. She swallowed hard. "Have you done that before?"

"Yes. About twenty seven times in the last three years. Not one patient has had a problem since."

"Can I see what you're talking about?" To make sure he seemed to know what he was talking about, not that she knew.

"Here. He's draped for a sterile field."

The hygenist handed her a mask. "Just hold it over your mouth and nose to keep everything sterile."

She stood on shakey legs and stepped over, half of Jason's face covered by drapes. Holy mother, the doctor's gloves were covered in blood. Her heart beat faster. "Should he bleed that much?"

"It looks much worse than it is. He's probably lost a sixteenth of a pint." He was holding down Jason's lower lip, his hand blocking the scarring on Jason's chin. "I'd excise this area." He pointed with a tool.

"Will it affect his speech or lip movement?" Her entire body tingled. Spots started monopolizing her vision. Oh god, right next to the tool was a deep, bloody hole from where Jason's tooth used to be.

"He shouldn't even notice I did it once it heals."

"Go ahead," she panted, her body going limp. Well, she'd almost made it. Everything went black.

The hygenists wouldn't let her out of the chair for nearly an hour while Jason was still in surgery and made her drink a full glass of cold water.

Jason walked in wearing the ski mask, the right side of his mouth protruding probably from being packed with gauze. He looked a little groggy but mostly worried.

The hygenist sitting in the chair beside her who'd held watch stood up so Jason could take a seat. "She went in the room during surgery to talk to the doctor. She made it through the teeth breaking but hit the floor when she saw the surgery before you were closed up. She didn't hit her head, though. We caught her in the nick of time."

He sat and grabbed the chairarm as if a little dizzy yet. His eye searched her face.

"I'm fine." She flushed, utterly embarrassed. "I didn't see your face," she whispered for his ears alone. When she started to get up, he caught her hand to keep her there. "I've been here for almost an hour. I'm alright. Are you feeling alright?" Her question didn't seem to register because he felt the pulse at her throat, his eye still worried. "Jason." She pulled his hand away just as the doctor came in.

"Sometimes patients are a little groggy for the rest of the day. His low body fat is allowing him to process the anesthesia quickly, so he might be back to normal in an hour or two. The two teeth came out without a problem, and the lip smoothed out beautifully. It might be a little tender, but the tightness of the scarring didn't allow for stitching. I probably wouldn't have stitched it anyways. I've told him all of this, but it might not quite register."

Jason gave him a look.

"Or maybe it did," the doctor smiled. "No need to return if there isn't a problem, and then in about three months a temporary bridge can be placed."

Jason held her eyes, seeming worried about her reaction.

She took his hand and gave a soft smile. "Let's go home."

The poor man looked miserable on the plane ride. He breathed slow and deep, pain etched in his half-hooded eye. He barely moved as he held the ice against his chin.

"Jason, you need the ice closer to your skin. Through the mask won't work well enough." She walked over and slowly sat in his lap facing his good side. "The pain med should kick in soon, honey. Let me hold on the ice, and see if you can sleep. I promise I won't look." She turned and hit the button to turn off the overhead lights, only the light from the dreary gray sky coming in.

He lowered the ice and started pulling off the mask but stopped when it must have pushed against his swollen mouth. Closing his eye, he panted shallow, short breaths.

She caught the edges of the mask and pulled it out away from his face, easing it off. Then she leaned back in his arms to only see his profile and held the ice against the far side of his chin as gently as possible. His face contorted and a soft whimper escaped him that sliced through her heart. "I'm sorry. I'm being as soft as possible. It'll feel better in a minute." He simply sat still looking so miserable.

After a handful of minutes, he began shifting and turned his head away. He brushed at his mouth over and over with a handkerchief getting covered in bloody saliva.

Her face crumpled, and she pressed her lips together to hold in the tears seeing him struggle and feel so humiliated that he turned away.

He started swallowing several times as it got worse. "No, Jason, don't swallow any blood or you'll get an upset stomach." She got up and took his hand to lead him into the bathroom. "Here's new gauze. It's time to change them in a minute anyways." She handed him the bag and swallowed hard. He turned his head away as far as possible without revealing the scars and held the handkerchief to his mouth. "Do you need help?"

He shook his head and took the bag before closing the door with a soft click.

When he didn't come out after a few minutes, she knocked on the door. "Are you alright?" No answer. She cracked it open. He was leaning over the sink with his hands on the counter and his head bowed. A steady flow of bloody saliva ran down from his mouth.

Tears sprang to her eyes to see him like this.

He wiped it and threw the tissue into a trashcan nearly full with bloody tissues. His mouth instantly started running again. He bowed his head down. And silently wept in humiliation.

Her lip quivered, but she held onto the tears. She pulled a tissue out of the box, keeping her eyes diverted from the mirror. She reached to wipe it for him, to help show it didn't matter, but he turned his head away. "Don't." Her voice broke. Heartbreak poked a hole in her heart, and it began to bleed. "Don't push me away. Don't let us break, Jason. I love you. Seeing you hurt like this, I wish more than anything I could bear it for you. Please, let me in."

He didn't let her see. His pain tore her apart. The rejection of her love pierced like a knife slowly driving deeper and deeper. Then, he slowly turned his head forward. Hope flickered in her heart. She gently wiped his mouth without looking beyond his profile. "I love you. We'll get through this together, Jason." She got a new tissue and brushed away his tears. Then she set her hand over his and rubbed his back, bending down a bit to be eye level. Bloody saliva dripped into the sink again. "It's going to be alright. We have to get the gauze in to put pressure on so the bleeding stops. Do you want me to help?" He shook his head. "OK. Hurry up because I need to hug you." That won a watery smile from him.

She sat in his seat looking out the window waiting for him to come out. When the door clicked open, she stood and took a step forward so he could slip in behind her without her seeing his face. His hand touched her back, and she sat in his lap. Holding the ice to his chin again, she searched his face. The pain medicine seemed to be working, if the loss of tightness around his eye was any indication. The fresh gauze must be absorbing the saliva and blood for the moment. She pulled down the writing desk of the seat in front of them. Then she handed the pen to him. "Tell me what you were thinking."

He hesitated for nearly a full minute. She laid her head on his shoulder. "Please, Jason. If we traded places, you'd be going crazy too wanting to help." The stress and worry came out in her voice. Then he slowly began to write.

_It's so humiliating. I want so much to push you away, to hide until this is over._

Her heart fell. They wouldn't make it if he turned away whenever a hardship came up. With age, his physical burdens would only increase. And he would only push her away farther and farther until there was nothing left of them.

_But that would break us. What if it doesn't get better? What if it affects my speech? The mask used to be a luxury. Now with my eye gone, hideous scars, and drooling uncontrollably, what makes me so different from a monster? The dignity I had is gone. How can you desire this? I was called a beast years ago. Now I am one. _

He slowly set down the pen, and a tear rolled down his cheek.

Tears streamed down her face. "You are no beast. Is that the faith you have in my love? I'm scared to come to you in a marriage bed because I fear you will see a defiled woman." His eye flew to her in horror, his head nearly turning to face her. "I fear you will look at me and only see the things he did."

His brow furrowed and he shook his head.

She touched his cheek. "I know those fears are in my head. Every time you touch me, a hint of that fear tries to take root. But I believe you love me, so that fear cannot thrive. You need to take a leap of faith in my love." Then she closed her eyes and leaned her forehead to his. "I will not let you fall," she whispered with her whole heart.


	34. Chapter 34

**Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews in the last couple chapters, Guest, callico11852, WritingPhotographer, Singingsilent, and YazminXD! I tried to make the last chapter a tearjerker without making it too sappy or too traumatic for Jason; it was hard, Guest. Glad it worked. :)**

**Me too this past January, Sophia, and I'm still looking for my Dr. Port. Happy early birthday, Sophia!**

* * *

"It just about breaks my heart," Trudy sniffled and sat down on the other side of the desk that afternoon.

She closed the laptop, not really able to concentrate on work anyways. "Is he still in his room? He wanted to try lying down for a bit when I left a half hour ago." Rubbing her bleary eyes, she looked at Trudy.

"I checked on him a minute ago, and he was pacing and holding his mouth, don'tcha know. He won't let me help. He let me change bandages for his other surgeries." She blew her nose loudly into a tissue. "Stubborn as a field cat, he is. Won't let me do a thing." Trudy looked at her with red eyes. "He can't stop with the tissues, like a poor fish with water. What it's doing to his pride!" Then the woman blubbered into her tissue.

She sighed, prested down with worries like Trudy's too. "He just needs time. It's only temporary until a bridge can be placed."

"You look like a racedog after a run, bless your heart."

She was too tired to try to decipher that metaphore. "I'll go check on him. Did he take ice cream or anything? He hasn't eaten all day." Trudy shook her head.

Digging through the fridge, she found some yogurt. Thick enough it might not cause problems but soft enough to not cause pain. Then she headed up to his room.

He paced in the bedroom but sat on the bed to offer his profile, still not wearing the mask, as soon as she entered. One hand held a rag to his lips and his other held a bag of ice. The bag rested in a hand on his lap rather than on his mouth. The lines of his face spoke of pain.

"I brought you yogurt to start. You must be hungry. Do you want to eat in here?" He nodded, so she set the bowl and spoon down on the nightstand before stepping back to avoid seeing his burns. Then she turned to him. "Has the bleeding started again?" He shook his head. "Did you take your pain medicine? Trudy said she was bringing it up-" The pills sat on a plate on the bed. Her brow furrowed, and she looked at his profile. "Jason, you need to take them so you don't hurt. There's anti-inflammatory in them that you need too." When he didn't respond, she sat beside him.

Something prevented him from taking the pills. If she could just figure it out and spare him from having to explain why, he could avoid more embarrassment. She nibbled her lip and looked at the pills. They rivaled horse pills, and one looked like he'd tried swallowing it. He'd mentioned once that his esophagus was scarred. Maybe he couldn't swallow them. The dentist had given a pain injection before departing the clinic, so this was his first dose of pills. How could she word this without embarrassing him? "Would this taste best crushed in yogurt or applesauce?"

He shook his head and looked at her from the corner of his eye.

Apparently that wasn't the problem. She frowned and nibbled her lip again. "Are you having trouble talking?"

He slowly nodded, dropping his eye.

Stevens and Trudy and everyone were feeling sorry for him, and it made him feel worse and not try. The worst thing she could do for him now was to feel sorry for him and encourage the pity. "Your speech will only improve with practice. Tell me why you can't take the medicine. If your speech is muffled, I'll try to figure out what you're saying." She waited. He didn't move. "Jason, I know this is hard, but you're not going to pull away from everyone and hole up. In the grand scheme of things, this is nothing compared to what you've been through before. I'm not leaving until we get pain meds in you."

His gaze remained on his lap, and he set down the ice. Then his left hand glided over to grasp hers and held tight, as if grabbing a lifeline. His hand trembled a bit.

He wanted this. He needed someone to pull him out of the doldrums. Her heart stumbled because he immediately latched on so tight. She should've come up sooner. BRinging his hand to her lips, she kissed his knuckles. "I'm here, Jason."

He swallowed hard and turned his face to her a bit. Letting go of her hand, he pointed to the left side of his mouth. It was a bit swollen and red. "Allergic." The word came out muffled but distinct.

Her heart jumped to her throat. "Is your throat swollen? Do you need antihistamine?" He shook his head, and her nerves calmed. "The dentist probably can't prescribe over state lines. Can you have the codeine here?"

Then he reached over, the tips of his fingers ever so carefully brushing over her eyes. She closed them, and his footsteps padded around the room. The bed shifted like he sat beside her. His hand brushed her arm, so she opened her eyes. He held a syringe, gloves, bandage, alcohol wipe, and injection bottle out to her, his hand trembling. "Side effect anesth...anesthesia." The last word came out garbled but decipherable. He couldn't give the injection himself with unsteady hands. "Pills gone yet."

"You gave the last of them to me for the car accident." That twisted her heart that he had to take an injection because of her. He shrugged. "Can't you take ibuprofen instead?" He shook his head and pointed to his lip. "You're allergic to that too? I suppose regular acetaminophen isn't strong enough for this." She bit her lip. "I haven't given an injection before. Are you with it enough to walk me through it?"

He nodded. The poor thing must've been in pain, but he remained a patient teacher as she slowly followed his directions. "Muscle," he said once she had the syringe loaded. Then he unbuttoned his blue dress shirt and shrugged it off his left shoulder to bare his upper arm. He pointed to the site and handed her the alcohol wipe. "Pull plunger..." He had to wipe his mouth again. "Make sure no blood before injecting. Half inch in."

"Your speech isn't bad, you know. It's mostly swelling making it muffled," she said as she cleaned the site. Then she poised the needle. "Fast? Slow?"

"Little fast."

She got it within an inch of his skin, her heart thundering. Then she pulled back. He sighed. "Can I do nerve damage or anything if I do it wrong?" He dragged a finger across his throat. "I can kill you?!" she screeched.

He snorted trying not to laugh and held his face.

Cocking an eyebrow, she pointed at him. "I have a syringe here. Don't tease me. You must not be feeling too miserable," she grumbled. Then she started and stopped right before it pierced him three times. He sighed in impatience. "Sorry! This should be a good thing that I'm scared to hurt you." After another failed attempt, he lightly swatted her hand when she tried again, forcing the needle in. She almost started. "Jason! What if I'd poked your eye out?" He gave her a look. She pulled back the plunger. "I don't see blood. Inject it?" He nodded. She injected it slow.

"Do it."

So she went a little faster and then stuck on the bandage before giving his shoulder a quick kiss.

"Thank you." He smiled a bit and pulled up his shirt while she threw everything out and washed.

"No." She returned and unbuttoned his shirt, keeping her eyes diverted from his face. "You are not at a business meeting. You'll get pajamas on, and then we're going to cuddle up to watch a movie or something. You need to learn what a lazy sick day means." Then she started unbuttoning his pants. He slapped a hand over the zipper. She sat on his left side and gave him a look. "You stripped me after the car accident, and it's not like you're in any shape to be ravished. I'm not going to strip you completely naked."

"I'm able bodied." He gave her a look, still holding the rag to his mouth.

She suppressed a smile. It melted her heart that he was shy about it, especially for being such a confident doctor. So she left. When she returned in red pajamas and a blue robe, he wore green flannel pajamas and socks. He flung out a hand at himself as if saying, 'Is this what you want?' With a smile, she wrapped her arms around his middle. "Yes." Then she stood on her toes and kissed his good cheek. His eye seemed to be freeing up from pain. "Now, my perfectly sweet, sexy boyfriend, whom I owe a really, really," she rolled her eyes back, "hot pity makeout session when you're better..." His eye lit up for a minute. "Do you feel up for a movie after your yogurt?"

He picked up the bowel and glanced at her from the corner of his eye, seeming ready to go.

Setting her hands on her hips, she smiled at him. "You're far easier to handle mute and drugged up." A small smile touched his lips, the best he could smile right now. She grabbed the ice too, and they headed down the hall.

Trudy stopped at the stairs and gawked. "Dr. Port? Are you ill? You're in pajamas in the middle of the day, don'tcha know."

She smiled and looped her arm through Jason's. "We are having a lazy pajama day because he doesn't feel well."

Trudy's mouth hung open still. "You're in pajamas in the middle of the day," she repeated dumbly and stared after them.

He didn't seem pleased that she insisted on carrying both items so he could hold the railing, but he complied before taking the bowl from her at the bottom of the stairs. Then he walked beside her, still holding the rag to his mouth. She walked with him down a small hall at the back of the house she hadn't been in before. It looked like the way to a laundry room. "Where are we going?"

"Man cave." With a smile, he opened the door at the end of the hall.

The room stood about twenty by thirteen feet with a normal eight-foot ceiling. It was decorated like the inside of a cabin, with the wood log walls, stone fireplace, and rustic look. A plush sofa, rocking chair, loveseat, and a knotty wood coffee table furnished the room. A large screen TV hung on a wall. "Oh my gosh, Jason," she laughed. "Why have you never shown me this room?"

"Like it?"

She turned. He stood in the shadows, but the glint of his eye watched her intently. Her smile faded a little at the serious note in his voice. For some reason, he seemed to often want to know her opinion of the house. "I do. I think it's one of my favorite rooms."

"Which others?"

Cocking her head, she frowned. "Why?"

"Curious."

She nibbled her lip and thought a moment. "This one is so homey. Then the arboretum is so beautiful. I think my room next." His eye squinted a tad in question. "Because it's where I met you." She flushed and glanced away in embarrassment when the most tender look touched his eye.

"Are you going to eat in here?" she asked to change the topic. He hesitated for a moment. "I wish you would. I know you didn't, but I liked that night we had dinner together at the hospital." She nibbled her lip. He'd step out and eat on his own. The comment must have tipped him over the fence because he slowly nodded that he'd stay.

She closed the curtains of the two windows, leaving the room quite dim while he started a fire in the woodburing fireplace. "I can do it. Do you get nervous by fire?"

"No." A smile lightened his voice. "No one's thought to ask. Thank you, though."

When she turned, she ran smack into the coffee table. Sharp pain burst through her shin, and she cried out. She hissed in a breath and sat on the table to grab her leg. A lump already started forming under her hand. Rubbing furiously made it hurt less.

Jason opened a curtain and knelt at her feet, setting the rag on the table. He seemed to forget about the scars because he knelt facing her, but she looked away quick without seeing more than a flesh-toned blur. "I'm fine," she said through gritted teeth. But he pulled up her bluejeans pant leg and gently palpated to survey the damage. She jerked her leg when he touched a particularly tender spot. "It's fine." Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed him pick up the rag and wipe his mouth. Then he leaned down and brushed a soft kiss over her shin. She swallowed hard at the gesture. The pain seemed to ease a little.

He stood and helped her limp to the sofa. Then he closed the curtain again and sat on the sofa beside her. When he pulled her leg into his lap and set his ice on her shin, she tried to pull his arm away and swing her leg down. "No, Jason, that's for your sugery. I just have a bruise." She pulled on his arm again. He didn't budge and kept ahold of her leg, swallowing repeatedly to avoid his mouth running. Biting her lip, she blinked back tears. He wasn't supposed to give to her what he desperately needed. "Jason, stop it." Her voice cracked. She pulled on his arm again and sniffled.

His head turned to her a bit to look her in the eye. His words mumbled together somewhat. He had to hold the rag to his mouth when he spoke. "Why does it scare you? I'd give you my heart if you needed it." He said it so matter of fact, like it was as obvious as the sun rising and setting that he would give up his life for her.

She bowed her head, her face crumpling. He didn't even appear to realize that he was speaking full sentences, regardless of his embarrassment over the impaired speech. Or that he'd almost revealed his scars in his haste to help. Now he bore physical pain so he could lessen hers.

"You gave me your own blood," he said softly. "Why can't I love you as much?"

Tears fell into her lap. "I was too terrified to sleep for thirty eight hours after he..." Her voice faded away. "He didn't do it for his pleasure." She sniffled. "He did it to teach me a lesson for leaving him. He did it for the power, made sure I screamed until I was hoarse by the time the police arrived. It took eight minutes for them to come."

Tears glistened in his eye. Then he closed it and swallowed hard like he was biting back bile.

"I think I went a bit insane in those thirty eight hours." She met his eye, with tears bathing her face. "But then I found something that took away the fear and pain, something I'd hold onto for three years. I told myself there was a man out there who would protect me, who would love me so much he would take pain for me. Who would love me so unconditionally and be the angel after the monster had gotten me. I knew a man like that didn't exist, but it helped to have the dream to hold onto." Her lip quivered, and her voice broke. "I loved you before I met you."

A single, soft sob escaped him, and a tear raced down his cheek. He sniffled as he gathered her in his arms to hold tight. "I love you," he whispered and seemed to struggle to not weep. He took a couple shakey breaths and held her tighter. "I'll always try to protect you from anything. Things I can't like losing your father, I'll carry you through them. You're my angel, Emma. I've needed you for so long. You make me hope again."

Once all the tears subsided, he ate the yogurt while she ran upstairs to get pillows and blankets. When she returned, he had a romantic comedy rented on the TV. "Really?" She looked at him in surprise. What man opted for a chick flic?

"I'm prowbawb, prowb..." He didn't look like he even cared anymore that he couldn't speak properly from the swelling. "Screw it." He waved his hand, giving up on his speech. "Going to fall asleep."

She burst out laughing and propped the pillows so he could lay on his left side. "Sometimes you surprise me how you can seem so properly uptight and then so normal."

He cocked an eyebrow. She laid on her side on the front of the cushions so he could lay behind without her seeing his face. He laid on his side behind her. "You forget I'm a bwadass convict." He snorted a laugh when his poorly pronounced 'b' killed his point.

She choked on a giggle.

"Oh, it's funny?" His fingers tickled under her arm, and she squealed and squirmed with laughter. His hand dove under the blankets for her belly. She laughed and jerked her knees up to curl into a ball. And bumped his hand up under her shirt at the last second so he tickled her bare breast instead of stomach.

He froze for a split instant. She froze in surprise too. Then his hand whipped out from under the blankets. "I'm so sorry. I meant to get your stomach through your shirt. I wouldn't just touch without making sure it was alright or-" He practically fell all over himself apologizing.

"I know," she said with a furious blush. Then she buried her face in her hands and giggled at the irony of his profuse apologizing. "Mr. Badass." She handed him the ice over her shoulder. "I love you."

He relaxed against her. "I love you."

His arm grew heavy around her fifteen minutes into the movie. She carefully reached back without looking and took off the ice so he wouldn't get frostbite. Five minutes later, the poor exhausted man softly snored. She soon fell asleep wrapped in his arms.


	35. Chapter 35

She leaned her elbows on the desk and held her head a couple days later. "I can't." The hundreds of numbers on the laptop screen laughed at her, almost as loud as the files scattered around the desk and floor.

Jason's hand appeared on the edge of the desk and his weight made the back of her chair creak as he leaned over.

Dropping her hands, she flopped back in the chair but didn't look up being his mouth still couldn't tolerate the pressure of wearing a mask. "I have to start over going backwards."

"Backwards? Isn't that going to be harder?" His hand disappeared from the desk for a moment and reappeared holding a handkerchief. At least with the swelling reduced, he only needed to wipe his mouth every few minutes.

"I've worked my way to the present, and I'm not getting far. I've figured out how two hundred thousand was stolen, but that's it. There's something obvious I'm not seeing." She ran her hands over her face.

"Sweetheart, a quarter million is good enough to take to the FBI for them to work on this, and enough to arrest whoever is doing it. Maybe they'll talk," he said, his words much clearer than a couple days ago. He rested a hand on her back.

She shook her head. "It's not tight enough. You could still be implicated, and there are about fifty five people who are possible culprits." Rubbing her temples, she stared down at the papers scattered across the desk.

"Emma, you've done enough and built a strong case. Don't pressure yourself like this." He rubbed her shoulders, worry straining his voice.

There was a knock on the study door. "Emma?" her mom called around the cracked open door.

"She seems nervous to come into a room unannounced since that night she saw me." Jason's hands released her shoulders.

"She simply feels guilty, Jason."

"Come in." He drew the curtains in the back of the room and sat in a chair in the corner.

She threw him a look and sighed. There was no need for him to sit in the back in the dark. He cocked an eyebrow in challenge. "You drive me insane," she mumbled just as her mom walked in. Then she turned her head to her mom. "How did the meeting with the lawyer go?"

Her mom smiled. "She says she thinks we'll get it all, plus reimbursed for her fees and 'emotional distress.'"

"That's wonderful, Mom." She stood and hugged her.

"I want to give you half when it comes."

She shook her head. "No, that's your money. You need it for the house, retirement, and-"

"No. If we get what she thinks, it'll be more than I'll need. They'll still be enough to give you a big wedding and spoil the grandbabies." A smile lit up her mom's face, and she dabbed at her eyes.

It made her heart ache, and she looked away for a moment. Her mom didn't know about Jason's reluctance for a family. What if he remained strongly opposed? How could she give up babies or the man she loved?

"Your dad would've wanted to throw you a grand wedding and..." Her voice trailed away when she started crying.

"Mom, he'll be there." Then she started crying too.

The chair creaked when Jason shifted a couple times as if distressed by the tears but hesitant to come over.

Her mom seemed to remember he was in the room and turned to look at him in the shadows. "Sorry. Thank you for recommending the lawyer and loaning us the money. I'll repay you-"

He held up a hand. "It's not necessary." His words came out a little slow as if trying to deliver as proper annunciation as he could. Then he quickly wiped the corner of his mouth that faced away from them.

"It was very kind of you, and I want to pay it back." Her mom wrung her hands. "About the other night, I'm so sorry."

He shook his head. "Don't give it a second thought. I should have explained better what to expect. I've been sticking to my room and Emma's office here until I can tolerate a mask again, so you're free to wander at your leisure."

"No, it's your house. You should be free to go where you want."

She bit her lip. They both felt bad and tried to avoid each other to prevent more hurt feelings, only compounding the hurt feelings. "Everybody stop." She held out her hands. "You feel bad that you reacted," she said to her mom. Then she looked at Jason. "You feel bad you startled her." She looked at both of them. "Everybody feels bad." Setting a hand on her chest, she looked at him. "I should feel bad that I'm the only one who hasn't seen your face, the reason why you can't just wander the house unguarded."

He opened his mouth.

She held up a hand. "I'm not feeling bad because you aren't ready for me to see, so don't start." Then she looked from one to the other on each side of her. "You two talk this out. I say you're both making this way too complicated, and you both should just walk around wherever you want."

"Amen," Jason said with a chuckle. Her mom smiled and then walked over to him.

She slipped out to give them a moment and so Jason wouldn't feel as tense trying to hide his face from both of them. Prince trotted down the staircase with a wad of socks in his mouth, his tail beating a hundred miles a minute. He sat before her, proudly displaying his treasures. Sitting on the bottom step, she started extracting the socks from Prince's jam packed mouth. One sock, two, three, four, five...

"I want you to feel at home to go where you wish," Jason said to her mom. "I should have explained what to expect if-"

"Now stop it," her mom cut in with that motherly tone. "It's not your fault. I couldn't sleep and wandered to the arboretum. I screamed in part from being scared of running into someone when I didn't expect it at night, and in part because I didn't recognize who was carrying Emma."

He remained silent for a moment. "But my face also scared you."

"Jason, don't judge Emma's reaction based on mine."

"You're evading my question, Becky," he countered in a patient tone.

"Emma gets her stubborness from me, and I'm not going to answer that." Then her mom's voice softened. "Come now, don't hide from me. You're becoming like family these last couple weeks. Emma's father wouldn't stop talking about you after you left. He was so happy Emma is with a good man like you. You shouldn't let scars be a barrier between you and her. She has a big heart and will see past them."

Worry etched his voice. "It's not her heart that I question. It's what she's been through. She fears men, Becky. It wouldn't take much imagination for her to fear me if she sees my face."

"I know. She told me about the incident when she thought you were him." Her mom seemed so heartbroken. "I think this new therapist she met with yesterday will help."

He sighed. "I hope so. I don't think it's wise to let her see my face at this point in time, though. Stevens and Ms. Van Hoodie have only seen my face because I needed help changing bandages after plastic surgeries. It took two surgeries a month for three months before I'd let Stevens help. I waited until an appearance more resembling a human a year ago until I let Ms. Van Hoodie see. I still keep to the shadows as much as possible for them. It's nothing against you personally, it's just hard to let anyone see me. It's hard for people to look at too." The chair creaked.

"Then let me make a proposal. You seem to trust Emma to not look but be in the same room. That can be how we handle it for the time being over the next couple days until I go home, which has nothing to do with this. I just miss the memories and it's where Emma grew up."

"Alright. We can try it until you go home," he agreed.

She smiled and scratched Prince's head. Jason would come to trust them in time.

* * *

Another couple days later, he strode into the kitchen wearing the ski mask, black sweats, and tennis shoes when they cleared breakfast. The mask had a bit more of the eyehole cut out.

"Is your mouth feeling better?" She blinked. It must be for him to wear the mask. Then she set the dishes in the sink. "Are you going jogging or something?"

He leaned his hands on the island counter and his teeth glinted in a smile. "You're going to learn some self-defense."

Her eyebrows shot up. "You're not up for that kind of activity yet. If I bump you're mouth, you're going to be gushing blood."

"We won't get that rough this time."

"This time?" She set her hands on her hips.

"You can't learn everything in one day. Plus, I'll need some time to recover after you beat me up."

Her mom smiled. "Can't get a better teacher than a Seal, Emma."

"Do you want to come, Becky? Ms. Van Hoodie took a lesson before she cried foul."

"Oh, goodness, no. Go teach Emma." Her mom blushed and put the milk in the fridge.

He turned his attention to her. "Alright, princess, it's just you and me." He approached and scooped her up to sling her over his shoulder.

"Jason! Put me down." She pushed on his back to not be upside down. "I'm not going to beat you up when you're still healing! And I have to help Mom finish packing for going home tonight." She looked at everyone for help as he toted her out of the kitchen.

Her mom, Trudy, and Pete simply grinned and waved.

"Traitors!" she declared.

He gave her bottom a soft swat when they turned the corner into the foyer. "Damn, your ass looks good in these jeans." Then he rubbed a hand over the round part of a cheek.

Her jaw dropped and she swatted his hand away, grabbing the back of his sweatshirt to shove herself upright as best she could. "Don't touch my bottom," she huffed, half enjoying this playful dominant side of him but a tad irritated by the manhandling.

His stride to the stairs didn't break pace. "Alright." Something in his voice sounded too light and mischevious. His hand shoved between her thighs to rub and press up simultaneously, creating warm friction that made her gasp in pleasure and surprise. "That's my girl," he replied, sounding pleased. Then he swung her down into his arms and took the stairs two at a time.

Her heart raced. Before she collected her thoughts to protest, he slipped into the first bedroom and kicked the door closed. He dropped onto the bed and straddled her over him. "I'm so hard, I can't possibly wrestle with you before getting this out of my system." Then he laid back and grasped her hips tight in his hands. He rocked her along the length of him straining under the sweatpants, and his eye rolled back in pleasure.

Biting her lip, she panted softly from the delicious friction, but mostly from his uncharacteristic demand for pleasure. Her heart thundered and her hands slid under his shirt to the burning heat of his hard muscles. Sexual tension coiled in him.

"Oh god, Emma. This isn't proper at all. But I've been watching you parade around in those jeans for a week and not able to do a damn thing about it." He rolled her over and climbed on top, his breathing harsh and fast. Capturing her wrists, he held them down on each side of her head and pressed his hips between her thighs. "May I?" His body trembled, but he waited for her answer.

Her thighs wrapped around him and rocked in response, a shy smile tugging at her lips. "Be rough with me, Jay."

He gasped and then his voice quivered with need. "I respect you. If you get scared-"

Too much chivalry was his downfall. She clamped her thighs around him and rubbed hard, her head falling back with desire.

A choked cry of pleasure escaped him. He pulled her to her feet and turned her around. Wrapping an arm around her middle, his arousal pressed against the left curve of her bottom. Then his other hand cupped around between her legs and rubbed as he thrusted, his arm serving as her strong brace.

She gasped and grabbed the bedpost, raising onto her toes at the intensity of the pleasure. A woman shouldn't have much sexual interest in the middle of her period, but her desire had awoken at his touch. Something didn't feel right, though. It was too impersonal, too much about sex. The desire started to fade. Something was missing that made his touches so safe.

"Emma," he choked and released her waist to squeeze her hip. His rapid pants brushed hot over her neck. "No," he gasped. "Not like this...Close your eyes."

She did, and he lifted her onto his hips. She held onto his warm, thick bare shoulders as he shifted to press her against the wall. The shirt was gone. He nuzzled her neck, although still unable to kiss. The mask was gone. Something rough brushed her neck. Gauze. He must have the gauze taped on the side of his mouth.

This. This intimacy was what had been missing. It went from sex to making love at the flip of a switch. She held him tight, soft whimpers breaking the silence as desire returned.

His arousal thrusted against her. The thundering of his heart slammed against her breast. "I love you," he panted and grabbed her bottom with urgency.

"I love you." There was a fever about him, as if not wanting to find release without her. "I can't, I have cramps."

"Sorry," he panted and started to set her down.

Her arms tightened around him. "No, show me how much you want me." He seemed uncertain if he should. Keeping her eyes closed, she brushed the back of her hand over his erection.

He gasped, and his hips slammed against her. Then he cupped her bottom and lifted her up onto his hips again. "I want to make love with you," he panted and started rocking, drawing sighs from her. His hand drifted up to capture her breast.

She grazed her nails over the back of his shoulders.

The man nearly fell to his knees. "Oh god, Emma." His body tensed, and his arms curled around her tight. His fingers dug into her back enough to make evident his desire. Then his hips started long, powerful thrusts, and his face buried against her neck. "Emma," he panted impossibly hard.

She rocked with him, and her hand buried in his hair while her other softly scratched his shoulder. The throbbing began to build. "Jay," she sighed, and her head fell back as he kissed her neck.

Suddenly, his hands slammed on the wall on each side of her. His body pressed into her, keeping her up. A flush swept over him, and his skin grew damp. Soft moans boardering on grunts erupted from his throat. She kissed his bare shoulder, her tongue swirling over muscle. His hot breaths puffed against her neck. The slamming of his heart thumped against her chest. All his muscles bulged hard as rock. His manhood convulsed. And then he sighed from the depths of his soul, and his muscles relaxed. He rocked her softly, suspended in pleasure. His hands slid under her shirt to skim down her sides and then rested on her hips. He rested his forehead on her shoulder and quieted, although his chest still heaved. She cradled him in her arms, basking in this closeness with him.

"Emma?" he whispered without lifting his head.

She stroked his silky smooth hair and gently nuzzled him. "Hm?"

"I've never done that with a woman."

Her heart stumbled over itself as it melted. "You're the only one who's shown me pleasure too," she whispered, keeping her eyes closed.

The weight of his head lifted from her shoulder. His breath whisped over her lips, and he cradled her cheek in his palm. "I'm sorry. I probably frightened you, and I meant no disrespect-"

"No, don't apologize." With eyes still closed, she reached up to cup his face in her hands. "I-" At that moment, the tips of her left fingers barely brushed hardened, warped skin.

He jerked his head back and dropped her to her feet, keeping ahold of her hips. Her eyes flew open in fright to see his chest, but he whipped her around. She flung her hands up against the wall to catch her balance. His hands locked on her hips.

She closed her eyes, his rapid breathing breaking her heart. "I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking, Jason." He didn't say anything. Was he that angry? "We talked about this that I might forget sometimes," she said softly. He still didn't respond. It hurt that he didn't trust her. Staring at the wall, she gently pushed his hands away. Then she slipped out the door.

In her room, she threw her jeans in the laundry and put on some fleece pants. Someone knocked on the bedroom door. She opened it. Jason stood there in a fresh black sweatsuit and wore the mask again. Without letting go of the doorknob, she kept her eyes downcast, too hurt to look at him. The sadness made it feel so empty in her chest where there used to be love and warmth. When he didn't say anything, she slowly looked at his face.

His eye searched her, fear and pain and regret etched in it so deep. "Did it repulse you?" he whispered, as if afraid she'd slam the door in his face.

Her face crumpled, and she shook her head. "Never." Then she flung herself into his arms.

He caught her in a fierce embrace and exhaled a shakey breath.

Resting her cheek on his shoulder, she sniffled and held fistfuls of his sweatshirt at his back. "I love you. I thought you were so angry."

"No," he said against her hair. "I was scared you'd leave."

"I felt so close to you, I forgot about the scars, Jason. That's all. I want the walls to strip away like that, so we forget about everything else in the world for a few moments. I want to feel my heart beat with yours like that again."

A kiss pressed into her hair. "I don't understand how you can forget you touch a beast," he whispered. "But I love you."

"Because there is no beast, simply a man," she whispered and rose onto her toes to kiss the mouth slit of his mask.

* * *

She walked past Jason's office the next morning to go to her study. Someone speaking with a Scottish accent muffled through the door. She stopped and frowned down at Prince, who carried two socks in his mouth. "Is someone here?" she whispered. He simply thumped his tail and looked up with big brown eyes.

"Aye, thank ye," a deep voice said.

The pitch sounded like Jason, but the accent didn't fit. Then footsteps clicked in the room. The door opened, and Jason blinked in surprise. "Good morning, love."

He wore his usual suit with a white dress shirt and the ski mask. She looked past him in the office to see the chairs at the desk empty. "Is someone here?" Then she looked up at him.

"No. Are you expecting someone?" A frown tugged at his mouth.

"I thought I heard someone talking with a Scottish accent."

For a split instant, he didn't respond. "I was on a call with someone in Europe about the patent. You must've heard the speaker phone." But it hadn't been that slightly distant sound of a speaker phone. It had sounded like someone right in the room. He smiled and ran a hand over her loose locks. "That green sweater brings out your eyes," he said, his voice dropping to a husky level that would've made her knees weaken at any other time. But something seemed like he was...deterring her attention.

"I'd better get to work." He looked a little surprised at the abrupt end to their conversation. She slipped into her office and shut the door. He'd been lying. Something in her gut nagged. It was hard to focus on numbers the rest of the morning.

In the afternoon, that muffled voice carried through the wall. She stepped into the hall and leaned an ear against the door.

"If this egit isn't bloody stupidity at it's finest."

She froze. And then her heart started racing. It was Jason's voice and words without a doubt, but the accent didn't match. Staring at the door, she backed up as the converstaion within continued. The Scottish accent didn't let up. It sounded too natural to have been learned. Dread reared it's ugly head. Why had Jason faked the American accent with her? How had he even when waking up from anesthesia? This didn't fit.

"Aye, Emma's safe and doesn't suspect," he said quietly. "She's workin' on t' books."

Her stomach plummeted. He was discussing her with whomever was on the phone. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end. What didn't she 'suspect'? Was this some kind of cover business she was working on? Something she'd get arrested for? Jason wouldn't do that to her, though. But she'd thought the same thing of Gaston's cheating too, and he'd prove to be a hidden monster. Oh god, there was something going on, and he obviously wasn't going to be truthful with her. Tiptoeing into her office, she locked the door and darted to the laptop. All promises were off when he wasn't being honest. She opened up the Internet browser and typed in the search box. Jason Port.


	36. Chapter 36

The only search results were about Charlotte's Hope, which said nothing new. Where was everything about the fire? Scrolling through page after page, nothing came up. She nibbled her lip.

Maybe looking up Pete would somehow lead to a backdoor about Jason. Peter Stevens. The results focused on other random people, except for one newspaper headline hit from four years ago about an apartment fire. She clicked and scrolled through the article. It talked about how Pete and some other people's apartment had been burned down, and how some guys named Andrew O'Malley and Charles Mason had helped get people out. A large hand slammed shut the laptop. She jumped and looked up, her heart racing.

Jason leaned a hand down on the laptop and looked furious. "What the hell are you doing?" he snarled, his eye glittering with rage.

She shot up and stepped back, her heart thundering with just as much anger. "Then tell me the truth! You weren't on the speaker phone, it was you! Who were you talking with about me?" The truth. She needed the truth from him, needed to trust him. No secrets or lies. He wasn't who he said. Her hands shook with fear.

He straightened and pointed down at the laptop. Then he roared in fury, "You gave your word!"

Her ears rang, and she backed up another step, her heart beating so fast it hurt. Fear made it hard to breathe. She obviously didn't know Jason, and she probably didn't know what he was capable of.

Her backing away only seemed to make him more furious. He stormed over in two strides, and she stumbled back, pinned between him and the wall. She flung out her hands to push on his chest to keep him away. Oh god, he was so angry he'd react without thinking. A hit from a man his size would kill her. He snatched her wrists and jerked them down, holding them tight without bruising.

"Stop it!" Her voice shook. Tears of fear welled, and her knees trembled.

He released her wrists and leaned his hands on the wall on each side of her. "You gave your word," he hissed.

She met his enraged gaze. "You lied," she whispered. Tears ran down her face for both the betrayal and fear. But she wouldn't cower.

He slammed a hand against the wall, making her jump and turn her head away. He bowed his head for a moment. "There are things I can't tell you," he growled. Then his head slowly rose and an eye filled with darkness met hers. "Things that would get you killed."

Her blood ran cold. She darted out under his arm and backed up toward the door.

He spun around and flipped open the computer to scan the article she'd read. His eye flashed to her. "What have you figured out?" His voice shook with anger.

She backed up a step. Prince got up and trotted over to lick her shaking hand.

"Emma!" he roared.

The safety of the door. She inched back to it, her voice stronger as she said, "You're a liar, Andrew O'Malley."

"Goddammit!" he roared and flung a book off the desk at the wall behind him. Then he shot around the desk.

"Stop!" she cried and flung out a trembling hand, panic ripping through her. But his rapid strides didn't break pace. His eye narrowed on her. She backed up toward the door, afraid to turn her back to him. His face didn't flicker to Gaston this time. This time, the face she feared was his. "No!" she screamed, so horrifically terrified.

He slammed to a halt five feet away, his eye wide.

"No," she whispered with tears streaming down her face. Then she backed up into the doorway.

"Emma." He took a step.

Prince shot in front of her and growled, blocking him.

She turned and ran to the front door, snatching up her purse and car keys from the hook. Prince came running after her.

"Emma!" Jason's footsteps clicked across the foyer.

She whipped open the door and ran out to the car. Prince jumped in with her, and she locked the doors. Her shaking hands fumbled to fit the key in the ignition. Prince growled when Pete and Jason ran out of the house. "Shit," she whimpered, with tears blurring her vision. She jammed in the key and threw it in drive. Pete banged on the passenger window and pulled out keys from his pocket. Prince barked at him. She floored it just as Pete reached to unlock the door.

She clutched the steering wheel in a white-knuckled grip and glanced in the rearview mirror, her heart racing. Jason sank to his knees in the middle of the drive. Tearing her eyes away, she focused on the road. The fear faded a little. In it's place, the heartache and betrayal surfaced, but she shoved it down and brushed at her eyes.

She and Prince would drive to a town and rent a car, leaving behind this one with Jason's cell number for the company to call him just to be sure she didn't get arrested for auto theft. She'd get a new phone so he couldn't track her, and call her mom to say don't let Jason in if he showed up. She couldn't go to her apartment because Jason would probably be waiting there, expecting her to return for her things. If she sold the Thunderbird, she'd have enough cash to just leave all her things behind and start over. She and Prince would drive and drive. They'd find a nice little town and start over. That's what she'd do.

The End


	37. Chapter 37

**Please see the sequel "Within the Roses and Thorns." :) I wouldn't leave you hanging. Many readers complained of too many chapters in the Tink trilogy, so I cut it off at Ch 36.**


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